Chapter 27
Poem #7
Dust in the air, a quiet breeze, Sun sinks low, through lonely trees. Horse snorts soft, a sudden shake, Ears prick up, for goodness sake. A feeling comes, a prickle cold, A story that's yet to be told. Shadows stretch, too far, too fast, A warning whisper, meant to last. No sound of hoof, no distant cry, But something's wrong, beneath the sky. Eyes scan the hills, a watchful stare, A rising tension in the air.
Dust in the air, a quiet breeze,
Sun sinks low, through lonely trees.
Horse snorts soft, a sudden shake,
Ears prick up, for goodness sake.
A feeling comes, a prickle cold,
A story that's yet to be told.
Shadows stretch, too far, too fast,
A warning whisper, meant to last.
No sound of hoof, no distant cry,
But something's wrong, beneath the sky.
Eyes scan the hills, a watchful stare,
A rising tension in the air.