The Passing of a Stranger (Dug up from a 2006 hand-written note)

In the Dark, on a New Moon day,
On the barren land,
There walked a stranger on his way,
With a black pony at hand.

Clad he was in dark garments,
And his head was covered too;
On the pony were his saddlements,
Which were all of a dark hue.

His pace was slow, his footing sure,
And wary he was of arounds;
He looked prepared for anything to endure,
And stopped he at all uncertain sounds.

From afar he looked no crook,
Though sure one cannot be;
But one could discern by just one look,
That he was not pleasant to see.

Altogether a foreboding look he bore,
But then, the sky was dark -
So was the land and waters before;
Even a dog would have feared to bark.

He walked on, pursuing the poor beast,
To carry on with his tired hoofs,
An evil pair they looked, to say the least,
Though there can be given no proofs.

Steadily the Sun rose and the dawn crackled,
The foreboding look vanishing,
The rays struck every sand grain and they chuckled,
The pair now further wandering.

With the rise of the Sun, all was plain,
And the pony now looked so brown,
The man we doubted was a mere plebian,
Walking off on an errand of his own.