The surest thing there is is we are riders, <br />And though none too successful at it, guiders, <br />Through everything presented, land and tide <br />And now the very air, of what we ride. <br /> <br />What is this talked-of mystery of birth <br />But being mounted bareback on the earth? <br />We can just see the infant up astride, <br />His small fist buried in the bushy hide. <br /> <br />There is our wildest mount--a headless horse. <br />But though it runs unbridled off its course, <br />And all our blandishments would seem defied, <br />We have ideas yet that we haven't tried.<br /><br />Robert Lee Frost<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/riders/
