Poem By DeForrest A. Penley

The horse is here, the saddle's near;
The open road is calling.
As you can see; I'm fancy-free;
So, why do I keep stalling?

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Other poems of DEFORREST A. PENLEY

Bards Of Old

The bards of old
Were very bold
In swearing love eternal.


The tall striped man-pole, with long wooden fingers,
Played no music sweet on a keyboard of air,
And the distant gray clouds slowly drifted right through him,
Going southwestward across the red sun,