Treasure Island

Horse Poet


Horse and Rider


The prairie blows the grasses
And whips the horse’s mane.
They travel, horse and rider,
Through the sea of amber grain

Hills roll by, and clouds pass
But steady are the horse’s hooves
Upon the wind blown grass
As they travel, horse and rider

There is no trail that they follow
No path that can be seen
There they travel, horse and rider
Upon the endless blowing green

Submitted: Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Edited: Wednesday, September 15, 2010

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