The Red Rider/Poem/Bette Wolf Duncan

The Red Rider

The beat of my pinto’s hoofs pierced the night,
as we welcomed the break of the first rays of light.
The canyon awoke all around us; and we
witnessed a splendor most folks seldom see.
Wranglers rise early. There’s hard work ahead;
and too much to do to stay long in the bed.
Thus we saw the red rider emerge into view;
and baptize the range with small droplets of dew.

Slowly, so slowly, he rode to the crest
of the mountains that loomed in the distance out west.
The night winds were dying. The stars were all gone;
chased of by the fiery, red rider of dawn.
The fragrance of sage and pine was intense;
and the big sky above, never seemed so immense.
The stars in their exile from perches on high,
watched the red rider set fire to the sky.
It blazed with a fury, blood-red and blush-pink.
It burned off the clouds that were stained with black ink.

A new day was dawning. The old day was done.
The blazing red rider was riding the sun.
As he rode ‘cross the sky on his stallion of gold,
he blazed trails for the new day. He burned off the old.
His hands wrapped around the hands on our reins.
He put steel in our backbones and fire in our veins.
One moment, he reigned. But the next, he rode on;
taking with him, the dew and the splendor of dawn.
And the disdain and dread that, on rising, we knew,
had vanished just like the small droplets of dew.

© 2011, Bette Wolf Duncan
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.