The Autumn Horse

The night is made of silver and shifting shadows,

It is a night for dreams and nightmares,

The moon is secretive, hiding behind clouds,

Gray wisps dart across the moon, not waiting to be caught.

A black stallion, a wild and majestic creature,

Seeming made out of clouds and air and silver moon,

But real hooves are echoing on the land,

Only truth in a wild night-world.

Sleepers are awaking when the stallion goes by,

But only one was waiting for the passing of the wild,

That boy was waiting, standing out in the cold,

Moon bleaching his hair silver, or is it silver on its own?

The moon-horse canters to the boy,

Suddenly stopping, breathing silver mist into the air,

The horse shakes, shudders, rears up,

Neighing its challenge of the night.

Steam rises from the skin of the stallion,

The boy jumps onto the wild moon-horse and whispers, go!

The stallion jumps into a loud gallop,

And the boy crouches low, black mane whipping his face.

Then the wild ride slows and the boy almost falls off,

They are under bare tree's shadow with crisp felled leaves

And the moon-horse lips at the water in the pool by the tree,

And the water bubbles as if boiling, but is as almost frozen as ever.

The boy shivers and the stallion turns,

Looking to see if the silver-haired boy was cold,

The moon-horse whickers to say, I must go,

And the boy's eyes are bitter for a moment.

The stallion whickers again, reassuring,

And the boy, curious and scared hopeful,

Asks, you will come back?

The moon-horse nods and then is gone.