My White Horse

By 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