The Ride


General! near to fall
Plunged toward open ground appalled
The blood, the wounds now mercifully tried,
Just one to run against the rules this time.
His right the higher ground, from paths
Where men and maples dark did pause
To bleed if he was not the hope theirs was
And pay for thinking soon enough.



Linking up with

painting by Ralph Albert Blakelock (1874-1919)