The Lost Rider

There once was a rider
Upon a white hill,
Taking his time
To do what he will.

His horse pranced about
And whinnied and neighed
And the rider realized
Too long had he stayed.

The hill, it turned black;
The darkness became
All he could see,
And naught he could tame.

And he wandered about
Till lo! on his reins
He found a little kind hand,
And a little voice came

And told him at last
He was no more alone:
He had a friend,
Who would guide his way home.

4 thoughts on “The Lost Rider

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