Time of Gallesbee Run


The moon bets on the racing horses,
the love of a woman goes home
because he's fond of all things courses
and she with the stars sees none,

tickets blow round all things lost
and I lean on the rail for the sky
the dawn has the fire that the moon has first
and while I wage rush by.

Aft round the bend and lagging behind
with the color and horns of the meet
the Gate now closed the ruin and blind
all speed with the run and the fleet
into the silence of the street,
the snowfall of the night.
 

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                           © William Frank, 2012.  All rights reserved.  (Poetry by William Frank)                                       

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