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Olarov and the Rider
by Lee Daniel Guest
The moon, once bright and high in the sky,
Began to shake and sink;
The wolves grew silent, the great bears shook,
And Olarov dared not blink.
On his trail for weeks and months,
The spectral rider followed;
Olarov saw him closer now,
And in his fear he wallowed.
The once-distant struggle before him now,
Olarov raised his sword,
Crashing blows rained through the night,
Strumming a mighty chord.
At daybreak Olarov longed for the sun,
And looked to see it high;
But blood clouded his vision now,
And blotted out the sky.
One problem troubled Olarovs thoughts,
With no solution; though he tried,
Though the Rider had given no defense,
It was Olarov who had died.
Poem and artwork copyright 2002 by Lee Daniel Guest email@example.com
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