The splatter of the first shower
The clip clop of the far off hooves
Fairy tale in a modern world
In the woods, a shadow moves
A lone soul in the midst of green
A feeble sound and a wavering hope
Disconnected chords of realism
Rolling stones through a highland’s slope
Everything that goes away and comes back
Everything belonging to or not
An old trunk in a worn down hut
Older fear and erstwhile distraught
And it comes to a stop with a crunch
In front of the dried up pier
The magnificent rider, the trophy
Of the waiting austere