Ministar's Poetry | 1/15/2011 -- The Wanderer

The sound of hoofbeats in the sand
Muffled though it be
Draws nearer to the sleeping town
No one awake to see

The veil of night falls all around
The rider slows his horse
Stars all alight, they shine upon
His long, hard desert course

By day he races caravans
By nights, rides on chill winds
No one knows where he may blow,
If he'll be back again

The children ask, "where does he go?"
Mothers cannot reply
For they know not what he seeks,
where he runs or why

"He's just the wanderer," they say,
and he's known far and wide
In youthful minds where heroes live
the wanderer still rides