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