The Thunderer
I stand still among the blowing grasses
And north, the growing rumble passes
A thundering of hooves upon the plain
A cloud of dust rises, no wind can contain
Over the north rise, the Thunderer appears
A gray stallion followed closely by rain
tears
A furious storm follows fast upon his heels
And hell, as lightning and thunder, peals
The stallion races, galloping over the land
His mighty hooves leave prints in the sand
His silvery mane whips in the shadowed light
As he sprints to outrace the following night
As I stand still among the blowing grasses
I scarce see the silver shadow that passes
But I feel and hear the fierce stallion's
cry
As the mighty, gray Thunderer passes by
2009 copyright Ivy
Schexnayder
