The Rider Poem by Panda Broussard

A twig snaps, a puff of dirt forms
Where the hoof print marks the ground torn.
The continuous steps, with a slow pace,
The rider steers and guides the way.
The stallion is driven by trust, a lack of fear,
No way of knowing what is near.
The deep eyes are shielded, blinders in place.
Never seeing what's going on, what's in its face.
The hidden route it's guided down,
Is to a cage wooden and round.
A horse cries out to give a warn,
Somewhere in the big red barn.
The rider's hand rubs and soothes,
Never letting on what it's about to lose.
The rider, now dismounted, continues the tug.
Removes the blinders, removes the rug.
The gait clicks and startled the mare,
Seeing now the cage that is there.
Here comes the rope popping the way,
Around and around now in dismay.
It can not flee, no choice anymore,
Now that the lock is on the door.
Exhausted and now afraid,
It gives in and is now trained.
The rider now guides the way...