Where The Blue Horses
Where the Blue Horses
by Ray Souster
The street is quiet,
the noise through the wall is stilled,
the little cat curled up on the chair,
radio turned off, milk bottles outside the door.
And for now
nothing but sleep and dreams and thoughts of sleep,
not even love keep us awake tonight
as we sink into that strange land
where the blue horses toss
riderless and proud.
by Ray Souster
The street is quiet,
the noise through the wall is stilled,
the little cat curled up on the chair,
radio turned off, milk bottles outside the door.
And for now
nothing but sleep and dreams and thoughts of sleep,
not even love keep us awake tonight
as we sink into that strange land
where the blue horses toss
riderless and proud.