Updated: May 1
Some dream to live their father’s dreams,
Walk on tarmac routes laden with traditions and later, an abomination of its intrusion.
Some leap into grander expeditions of soul searching,
Unabashedly girdled with resolution and faith,
Bridled with a monolithic vision of victory,
And those, my dear, are the heart-breakers!
For they stood on their bleeding stirrups before they learned to walk,
For they learned how to tame wind in their hair,
Chastised their fears with the holy waters of an equestrian,
And burned their roots into dark hallways of calvary.
Born were the daughters of Polo,
For them, no saddle was too high to climb.
Crimson was the color of their valor,
Purple was the color of their perseverance,
Yellow was the color of their velocity,
And that’s what made them cavaliers!