108, Ivory Dawn

One hundred and eight of ones.

A just-died horse breaks free.

He could remove himself from the “City of Lights”,

Then to leave the pictorial fame on some Walls.

Who once loved her wanted to say “Goodbye”,

While accidentally, and rightfully saying “Goodnight.”

To be as always or not as same.

I ask, you say.

“The end of man?”

“An Ivory Dawn.”