His look is wolflike; hunter in the dark. “You come with me,” he said, “don't be a wife.” He lifts his leathers, ready to depart: “You come with me, and leave your boring life. “Come ride with me, and see the edge of doom.” The edge? I follow him where he would go. And gentle him, and watch his glamour bloom. I raise him up. A man whom all would know. And I, remaining there, upon the edge, Find I have, unbeknownst, become a wife. And while he wins high praise upon the ledge, I live my unremarkable own life. And yet I have seen o'er the edge of doom, and bear remembrance here within my womb.
Inspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet 116. My first attempt at iambic pentameter and sonnets. This won me a competition!