The Midnight Mare by Gail

Queen Mab is a beautiful big black gypsy mare, 16 hands at the shoulder, with thick feathers that start at the knee and a long dark forelock that covers half her noble head but allows two fine dark eyes to peep through.

O but she’s light as a fairy on those dinner plate hooves,
O but she quick as a whip evading the bridle.

Her coat is blacker than midnight, black as true black, with rainbows of colour hidden in the dark, a flash of ruby red on her rump, the sparkle of sapphires on her shoulder, jade shimmers on her cheek as she shakes her head - the sunlight ripples on her like a cloak.

O but she dances like a ballerina on those dinner plate hooves,
O but she’s quick as a whip when the stallion calls.

Queen Mab takes me on her back, my hands tangled in her flowing dark mane, she won’t be broken to the rein, but she will carry you to worlds where legends grow like apples, where gypsies dance around the fire to the music of tambourines.

O but she springs like a cat on those dinner plate hooves,
O but she’s quick as a whip when the west wind blows.

Queen Mab belongs to no one, only to herself, but she will share the journey with you, she will let you rest against her broad wellsprung ribs when the sun goes down, she will nuzzle you with her big Roman nose and daintily take bread from your hand with her lips feathering across your palm like butterfly kisses.

O but she tip toes through wild violets on those dinner plate hooves,
O but she’s quick as a whip when she smells sugar in my pocket.

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