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C.E. Skilling

Pony Soldier

With pony hooves,
      softly shuffling through the night.
We rode forward,
      into the rays of the suns first light.
Another dune until I’m home,
      aboard this soft stepping pony,
        not bay or spotted,
          but roan.
Another dune;
another dune until I’m home.
A soldiers life he had chosen,
      as his father once had said
        to watch both friend and foe,
          fall broken in soil now red.
Another dune;
      another dune;
        another dune until I’m home,
          were the chanting words of an unknown soldier,
            as he lay broken,
              in the dark and sandy loam!