i have seen those ghost riders rolling across the sky
chasing herds of herefords and long horns
through the gray, gray heavens flecked with white clouds.
“oh,” the folks say, “you are just an old man
“imagining, dreaming foolishly.”
they are right
they have never heard the hoofs pounding
the cattle braying
the steeds neighing
the riders screaming
in the bleak blackness of night.