It was morning in the valley
       Where the cottage stood alone
In a spot in Northern Cali
       Where the wildcat used to roam.

She set out for the market
	She wore her Sunday best
He paid little attention
To the regal way she dressed.

Out the door, she hurried
	With panache and with a grin.
She wasn’t really worried
	About seeing him again.

Westward on her stallion
	She set out all alone.
Herself, her own battalion
	And she wasn’t coming home.