The trail was dusty,
The sun hung low.
He walked his horse,
Rhythmic and slow.
A battered hat,
Uncombed hair.
A straw in his mouth,
As he lead his mare.
Left foot first,
Then follows right.
His cape fluttered torn,
A pitiful sight.
His eyes told stories,
Hardships and all.
His smile grim,
With what he saw.
Skilled hands,
That earned his food.
His words few,
But never rude.
He lived his life,
Through and through.
He knew foolishness,
And wisdom too.
He once knew love,
And the meaning of friends.
He learned betrayal,
He makes amends.
So now,
On the untraveled road,
He walks his path alone,
His heart like ashes...
Fallen cold.
I am not sure whether if this is really a love poem. It could be about life in general too.
By Lady of Scartha
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