(Dappled Stillness) A stoic horse, dappled so still, stands in front of a caravan, against his will his mane will not float along with the breeze, he'll not gallop, nor trot, to the song of the trees. The wheels of his cart, are not finely wrought, it sits idle and silent, in dreams left unsought, the path lies abandoned, no footsteps to trace, just echoes of journeys nevermore to take. The road stretches long, but the caravan stays, Frozen in memory, lost in the days, A sad tale of wanderers who wander no more, Stuck in stillness, hooves glued to the floor. Oh, beautiful horse, with eyes made of glass, What tales you could tell, escapades from the past, But the wind, it no longer whispers your name, Only in your hollow memory that life you retain. (Lyrics August 2025 © A J Wilson)
