The wise fool
Another did try to contemplate me but went quite doolally; the mare did not appreciate his embrace despite the pace at which her hind was being defaced. The consequence of a mind of his time, aware of the despair of the stallion’s rutting stare that would drive the herd over the edge. The fall of my equestrian kind driven by an overly phallocentric masculine mind divorced from my more feminine kind; the epitome of the pathology, my malady, the abyss writ large amongst the whole. Even the machismo-mares close to him forsook him so, their hair too course a cord for his bow; unable to resonate the strings close to the bridge to me, in accord with my divine symphony. A swan song resulted instead despite his honest intent but I took him unto me, for he identified the pathologies in me. My compassion now soothes him so, despite the coarseness of his haired bow.