Arts + Scene » Poetry

The Last Horseman



I walk with diligence to the gate

And call my steed to me

His airy trot to my hand

Invites a scratch, tickles our soul

A now tired saddle the only thing

That has come between us

Thru journeys of old and this one

Past the chain link fence

Locking in the nature preserve

Down the asphalt to the street light

Green to go up rail tracks rusted thru

Riding along the back alley

Where young boys and girls

Await to give my mount a pat

Like yesterday

And a piece of bread

He nickers as they approach

We tell them more tales of yesteryear

Found on the trails behind the fence

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