The Roan

She waits, cold

Shivering

The roan sits

Her saddle

Fastened tight

Waiting for

A rider

to ride her

to lead her

to guide her

on journeys

Far from home

to the seas

to the trees

to the moors

to the floors

of valleys

far below

Where she went

on her own

But, no one

comes, no one

sits, no one

leads, no one

cares, for the

Roan that waits

Alone