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The Stragglers Gate
The distant sound of hoopbeats stirs the air
those clouds sweet dusty dreams of yesteryear
float lazily across his fluttering eyes
crease wrinkled face to smile and eyes to tear.
They rode, this ragged trio, on the winds
the age of youthful never ending friends
a-gallop in a world where horses fly
alone upon a trail that never ends.
They wait, make camp at stragglers gate
knowing none could ride beyond their fate
hold steady in a dream that cannot die
That they will someday ride a cloudless sky
4/2/2020
Copyright ©
John Lawless
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