Lorna

The Course

The course has been plotted

The horse taken from the barn

The rider mounted

The journey begins

Over sunlit hills

And down into dark valleys

Wading through streams of salt tears

Fallen from love sick hearts

And broken dreams

The strain of struggle

And on the horse and rider plunge

Whipped by branches

Side swiped by fate

Cheered on occasionally by love

Reaching for trophies

Triumphant

Then tired

Then sore, perhaps lame

When the horse is stumbling

The rider unseated

Ambition melts and fades away

Quiet of home beckons

Takes them in

Enough of the world

Peace is the last cup they’ll win