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Button tufted cushions, pearl grey
and as plump as the day they were made,
meticulously customized to snug each corner
of the red enameled Landau  carriage,
top down now to take in sun and breeze,
A time for stolen kisses as the horses have their rein,
hot blooded and high stepping, these Friesians
are no donkeys.

Standing tall at almost twenty hands,
manes and tails a mass of silky waves,
Ebon as the night, oh royal beasts, you take
us to most magical of places.  Beneath the seat
a wicker basket filled with wine and cheese,
and fresh picked grapes at rest  on chips of ice
to tease even the dowdiest of taste buds
into readiness to receive chateaubriand.

This little spot of heaven is our secret,
Central Park or on some distant farm, it little matters,
The sky is blue, the breeze is warm,  the checkered tablecloth
is finest linen, the fare – homespun gourmet.
Horses munch the tender grasses, content to roam
this new found pasture land while we picnic
on life’s greatest pleasures, good food, sweet love
and sleep beneath the sun.

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