Winds of Change

by Beverly M Miller

To ride a painted pony
across a wind swept hill
Imagination’s our guide,
to be called upon at will.

Drumming beat of horses feet
summon voices from the past
"Dare ride out this storm,
our challenge may be your last!"

Multitudes slap their steeds
as thunder rolls ore' the land.
Angry souls spit lightning bolts,
fierce winds rage from waving hands.

Floods of tears from generations,
appear as torrential rain.
All races sharing like emotion,
each tears color is the same.

We kick our ponies harder now
to gain distance from the strife
Hands clench reins with knuckles white,
we’re holding on for life.

Then as fast as it all started
the winds begin to die
Swirling clouds above our heads
hold sunlight in the sky.

Their gentle laughter outlines color
in a picturesque rainbow
All sights and sounds softly fade,
disappearing with the blow.

Exhausted ponies slow,
it’s time to bid them farewell
With knowing winks,
father and son dismount the carousel.

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