Going home

And now we’ve traveled way too long
Along some winding, dusty road
My old horse neighed and suddenly stopped
Silently digesting what laid right ahead

I whistled out a battered song
And brushed my horse’s matted coat
There was a mountain to be topped
Before we reached our final bed

The climb was hard and way too long
For my horse with me as his load
I stepped down soon before he sobbed
I wanted none of us to arrive home dead

I was glad that nothing went way wrong
As we passed the final stretch of road
Boys played, girls combed, a lady mopped
A place called home that lied ahead

25 May 2006 20:25