Written by Bethan Harris

Back at the house an inky figure appeared,
Mysterious and unnoticed to all of men,
Swift and strong as a lion ready to pounce,
No longer hidden or concealed in his den.
Meanwhile, the Traveller, off the cobbled road,
Was warming himself by the fire.
Internal emotion filled him with fear,
And the feeling was utterly dire.
Suddenly a movement caught the Traveller's eyes.
The figure mysterious and cold was there,
The Traveller sensed the danger around,
He spun at a glance, but all was bare.
The Traveller gazed overhead at the shining moon.
Trees like steeples pierced the sky,
The heavens like a blanket of ebony,
And the swooping eagle inflicted a cry.
The doomed shadow fled with speed,
As the stars gleamed like diamonds brightly above.
The Traveller lay down, quaking with fear
As he listened, in the distance, to the cooing of the dove.
The Traveller arose and strode to his horse,
His feet in the stirrups and reins in his hand.
He cantered away as rapid as the wind,
The trekking hooves heading towards home land.

© Bethan Harris 2005

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