My White Horse
John I. Blair
We took tedious trips in our ‘41 Ford.
Sitting in back, I would stare out the window;
And when I got tired of watching the land,
I fancied a great horse running beside.
Transparent to others, to me he was white,
Sleek, magnificent, magical, strong.
He loomed so grandly in my mind
Sometimes I almost thought him real.
Whatever came along he could leap
As he galloped close by the speeding car:
Fences, ditches, bluffs and streams
(Though rivers he swam, if I so chose).
His movements were effortless, fearless, free.
They always took him wherever he wanted.
And after countless confident hours
Pushing my white horse past any barrier,
I only now have come to admit
One insurmountable for myself.
©2003 John I. Blair
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