The horses

Dusty plans of nothing just a 

bolder and a  

old rusty train track from a distance

you could hear the pounding feet 

of the horses the train tied

in with the noise of the galloping horses

some 

Old and weak 

Pregnant mares would run

just as fast 

The train looked like it was

racing them 

The dust fell onto their backs like a rain

but not too much 

Clickety-clack

As the pink slowly moved into the purple fade 

as the sun slowly faded

The horses would run like the wind they 

Never stop running

like a cheetah