The Lone Ranger

Mounted on a majestic stallion, he stood high on a cliff,

From under his hat, he looked

At the barren land, deserted

Like his heart, that was once tough.

The sky hung low, clouds drifting nice and slow,

Softly, the wind grazed his face,
Like her gentle touch, he missed.
If only he'd known, she's a bird; he wouldn't have let her go.

Nothing said, not a word! His expression, lost!
For in those clouds, were etched,
Her smiling face, heavenly, beautiful, bright
From his impassive face, from those hazel eyes, a stinging tear said it all!

To this land he called his own, remained he now, a stranger.
Mighty once, now hollow and weak,
A detached soul, incomplete without her.
He missed her so his heart and soul, the solitary lone ranger.