Fairytail 12/2/2009

In the Melbourne Meadows,
he, a Wounded Bull, brittle-horned,
still dazed by fading red,
struggles to aim the answers for feeling so remoted.
Over the months, all green gets its colour back
decreasing fright turns to beating joy.
Then of being left giddy-light-whole, dethorned.
But sand-sunk hoof trails pay all truth tones muffled.
It's held undivulged in your un-charging blue eyes!
When first he laid his on you,
the brisk of your wings denied his seeing
what you were -- despite all audible flutter:
One Creature from his dreams!
Who first sincerely whispered while held high,
millimetres below the standing worn horn...
"It's good to see you!"
In the haste of astonishment,
"Can I drink your syrup?"
was Dumb Bull's immediate thought
which luckily he didn't muster.
Even so, embarassed blue covered his mug
when she retorted, "I'm no bee's daughter silly!"