The Last Ride

A ribbon of riders before me I see
sinewy threads between deep green trees
translucent rays of morning sun
stand out the jerseys the riders have on

Oh I long to catch the moment
for in my mind I’ll always foment
the sight of silent riders weaving
solemn in their thoughts of leaving

Before unknown and now connected
each others moves are still reflected
in the images that remain within each one
I pray the ride is never done

Chris Cannon, July '98