Friday, April 24, 2009

Storm Horse

The night was drenched in deepest black
The road was steeped in rain
He had to bring a doctor back
To ease his brother's pain.

The family car was broken down,
The bicycle was flat,
The storm had taken out the phone;
Three miles there and back

He set out on his lonely walk
When right before his eyes
A glowing horse leaped in his path,
One of enormous size.

It spoke to him; he rubbed his eyes
And doubted what he saw
But all it did was emphasize
The strangeness of it all.

"I cannot help but be myself.
You may or may not live,
But I have leapt into your path
My services to give.

I'll take you far and take you fast
To where you want to go
But if you slip or lose your grip
You will be seen no more."

He recognized the pooka
From his book of Irish lore
And thrilled at doing something
That he'd never tried before,

He took the creature up upon
Its offer of a ride
Convinced that if he lost his cause
He'd just as soon have died.

It spun aloft and quickly flew
Along the country road
And typical of pooka lore
It tried to lose its load.

He held on till his heart grew faint
His breaths came scarce and sparse
Yet gripping somehow still remained
Aboard that wild horse.

The doctor found upon his porch
A tired and tattered man;
With great surprise and mild reproach
Returned him in his van.

His brother was attended
And his arm put in a cast
His broken bone now mended
And the peace restored at last.

The pooka sometimes visits
Though just one can see his form:
The fellow who will not forget
The journey through the storm.

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