A graying father and his school-aged son,
Riding silver horses off into the sun.

On a road once painted brown…
Now scribbled black…headed from town…

Both are smiling and enjoying the earth,
Imagining what mother’s cooking on her modern day hearth.

As the moon escapes the prison of its brother,
The generations enjoy the company of one and other.

The father tells of his shy young-man ways,
The boy remarks on the difference in their days.

Laughter fills the cool dry air…
The world seems still on the road right there.

The man’s hardened hands pat his son on the shoulder,
He stares in awe – his child gets older –

As the trod of the stallions pound at the road,
The best of generations form to make a new mold.

As the two approach their turn onto their dirt path,
A black Mazda going ninety cruises right past.