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by Karen Schwartz
They tell me I travelled in style
from the time I was born. Riding
high and proper like an equestrienne
atop a soft linen saddle cushioned inside
an old fashioned English pram
with its four chrome spoked wheels
replacing hooves and a sculpted
metallic handle turned reins
for my mother’s small delicate hands.
She paraded me around the neighbourhood
like royalty on bright autumn days when leaves
fell like gold coins at the rainbow’s end
and I as her royal princess seized
the riches of the season’s timeless glory
while sleeping in blissful comfort.
These were the days when I travelled
in style protected from wind, rain and the
sun’s burning rays by a navy blue cloth hood
and four wheels that rode me home
faster than my infant legs could carry me.