Wildwood Slim

Hoofbeats

Sometimes I find myself alookin’
Through the years, a backward glance,
And I see the friends of childhood
From the years now gone before.
And I ponder endless summers
Fighting foolish odds with chance,
While life drifted, careless, onward
Till we woke, a child no more.

But it’s the hoofbeats. A hundred
thousand pounding hoofbeats
Of a dozen horses, galloping,
That keep calling from the past;
As we raced along the creekside
Feet a pulsing, like vast heartbeats,
In those glorious bygone summers
Lingering on, like ...