Jan 2015
A horseshoe made of iron
Strikes against the ground
As the horse carries his rider
To the place which he is bound
The riders horse is quick
Traveling under a midnight sky
Gliding silently through the night
As lightly as a butterfly
The horses stride is long
And like a musket ball in flight
He moves about unheard
Unseen within the night
At last the morning comes
But no rider no horse no sound
Yet there upon the trail
A horseshoe print is found
RLB
Strikes against the ground
As the horse carries his rider
To the place which he is bound
The riders horse is quick
Traveling under a midnight sky
Gliding silently through the night
As lightly as a butterfly
The horses stride is long
And like a musket ball in flight
He moves about unheard
Unseen within the night
At last the morning comes
But no rider no horse no sound
Yet there upon the trail
A horseshoe print is found
RLB
This poem was written as a small token of remembrance of all the couriers of the Civil War who carried important orders and messages through enemy territory ,but more so for the brave horses upon which they rode. I have to wonder how many horses carried their riders unseen and unheard through enemy lines to deliver an important message or order.
