Wilfredo Derequito Poet I do not know?

The Lonesome Rider

Here comes a rider from the blue mountain,
his fleeting shadow forms like a rainbow;
he lives by simple faith and faith alone,
traveling to find his way back home.

Here comes a rider from the blue mountain,
his body is weary, so old and drained;
he journeys on lonesome roads and forsaken trails,
hoping and trusting to find his dream.

All day and out he travels far and wide,
rainy days and cold, cold starless nights;
nobody knows what keeps him from quitting,
is it his dream or is it his head?

There he goes again to the pouring rain,
facing the dark clouds, fighting the wind;
singing a sad song with an old banjo,
kissing the children like they were his own.

Then long days passed and time ran out,
the rider had not come and gone 
to that far side of town and he was nowhere,
he was nowhere to be found.

One day I found him silently resting
with his old banjo on top of him.
I thought it must be very cold indeed
down in that lonesome grave of his.

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