Night Wind

Astride black stallions of the night
Fierce cowboy raiders
Sweep through the glen,
Whirling their mighty lariats around
The proudest branches of the elm.
Howling their glee they watch
This matriarch of forests
Until spent with her struggle
She bows, ashamed, defeated
Before her ancient foe.

Across the field fragile grass blades,
Trembling like silken steel
Cling to her who gave them birth,
Begging to escape the fury
Of a bandit’s lash.
Above, an old moan, jaded with too late hours
Yawns, sighs and feebly slips
Behind a laggard cloud,
Weary with watching these bullies
Who proudly stage their boisterous rodeo.

Sixth in a series of my great-grandma’s poems.

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