Wind streaming his hair
The wild Cossack road his pony
At breakneck speed
Across the rolling steppe
Wind streaming his hair
The wild Arapaho road his pony
At breakneck speed
Across the rolling prairie
Each man knew a sense of freedom
That others can only guess at
Neither men knew
How quickly their way of life
Would pass away.
February 27, 2007
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Comments: 6
I like the images unfolding before me.
This poem is so romantic and sad. Reminds of when, as a very young person, I read Zane Grey's The Last American in study hall and was crying, and the teacher, Mr. Sutch, noticed. How's that for detailed child memory? Your poem did that.