Coyotes
Like ghosts the pair of coyotes moved silently down the property line,
In the predawn hour, double take as they lope weary this time.
They don’t turn but know we are here,
They outrun all their fear.
Pinkish horizon painted on rippling clouds,
Just Molly and me, the silence loud.
Our early morning routine, peace as sun rises,
Grateful for another day with all its surprises.
In the distance hear the horses at the shed,
Restless and wanting to be fed.
They all face our way as return,
Bobbing heads, tummies yearn.
About the Author: Brian Bucks lives on a small horse ranch in Western Nebraska and is a husband, father, electrical engineer, and poet.
Image is dawn February 12, 2016 by Brian Bucks.
In the predawn hour, double take as they lope weary this time.
They don’t turn but know we are here,
They outrun all their fear.
Pinkish horizon painted on rippling clouds,
Just Molly and me, the silence loud.
Our early morning routine, peace as sun rises,
Grateful for another day with all its surprises.
In the distance hear the horses at the shed,
Restless and wanting to be fed.
They all face our way as return,
Bobbing heads, tummies yearn.
About the Author: Brian Bucks lives on a small horse ranch in Western Nebraska and is a husband, father, electrical engineer, and poet.
Image is dawn February 12, 2016 by Brian Bucks.
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