He'll ride In the morning, through the day
Travels the road,
High upon the hills a shadow beneath the clouds,
Into the wind, the rain blowing against his face,
The snow falls as through the mountain passes
He is moving.
A man with no name, throughout the land maybe
He's known only as the rider carrying whatever
This horse he rides with colors of solid black
And white spots,
A demon creature, wicked with speed like the wind.
Brown and black hat worn on his head gives a
A coat so long for cover and warmth shields
Him from weather, the rider.
Boots on his feet of dark, broken In pattern
Can be noticed in the stirrups,
This man of the land rides and rides, just he
And his faithful companion.
Like a ghost so quiet he roams the wild wilderness
He's known as the rider, Into the night he rides.
I love your spooky, atmospheric poems…
Thanks so much for reading.