The Brown Rider Poem by Jason Pack

In a cloud of dust,
The very ground will bust.

On his steed of sand,
He darts 'cross the land.

His hammer of stone,
He protects his throne.

The axe at his thigh,
A killing is nigh.

A shield of boulder,
Upon each shoulder.

A sandstone spear,
Draws death so near.

An aura so blunt,
He need not to hunt.

His hair of brown,
And his head so round.

His path is plain,
But he lacks disdain.

He is the king,
That the stones sing.