Courtesy of
Beneath the star of morning
the rider sights the fractal plains,
grateful for the gifts from the Mother.
Across the lands her power reigns.
Red clay dust coats his lips,
he hears the soaring eagle cry
above the distant mountains,
spruce and fir, cobalt to his  eye.
Bareback on his painted pony,
Warrior feathers braided in his hair.
He wanders through his memories,
lamenting a time no longer there.
M. Zane McClellan
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Jane Dougherty Writes – Poetry challenge #40: Rider