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.