Canter, Canter

Canter, canter, faster, faster,
The horse and rider go.
Across the plain, away from pain,
Across hills and fields of snow.

Canter, canter, faster, faster;
The rider is bent upon
The horse's neck, to answer the beck
Of the call that bids him gone.

Canter, canter, faster, faster;
The horse's hooves burn the earth,
Scorching a path through aftermath
Of the blizzard's snowy mirth.

Canter, canter, faster, faster;
This is no mortal horse that runs.
So thinks the pack as they track
The horse by light of a dozen suns.

Canter, canter, faster, faster;
The hunters must halt at last.
They say the horse is not away,
That the rider is hiding from his past.

Canter, canter, faster, faster;
But the truth is truth, so remains.
His crafty mind did not fall behind;
They find no trace of him on the plains.

Canter, canter, faster, faster;
No trace of hooves there is.
The hunters turn home, no more to roam,
No more to wonder about this.

Canter, canter, faster, faster;
The track of the hooves ends there,
As if the wind alone had dinned;
As if they had vanished into air.