Fiery Sounds Of A Heated Rhythm Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Riding into the desert, rising higher into mountains above,
looking for a secluded spot in which to stop and eat a little
lunch.

Suddenly hearing mournful cries of ghost riders in the sky,
touching this mind with the significance of what has conspired
once upon a time.

Watching and listening to fiery sounds of a heated rhythm that
keeps increasing further in the mountains above, wanting to
catch up, but they continue to ride out of sight, no longer here.