WAY BACK THEN

A soft, echoing, rumbling,
water splashing and tumbling,
while so many were slumbering.

Footsteps pounding a gravel road,
carrying such a heavy load,
looking for where it can be stowed.

Hawks flying, high in the blue sky,
hounds stand waiting to hear the cry,
unknown victims ready to die.

Hear galloping hooves descending,
mounted by armed men transcending,
innocent people defending.

Morganpoet