Dad and Brother hooked up horse and wagon,
went into town for a night of drinking.
Sister stayed home, as the hours passed,
finally heard the hooves in the lane at last.
Thundering down the poplar-lined lane,
horse and wagon were coming fast.
She opened the door; no one was there.
The thundering hooves were made of air.
Next day they came to tell the news.
Her dad and brother got into the booze,
over-turned their wagon on the way home,
horse and men all dead; she left alone.
For the rest of her years, when the moon was full
at the stroke of midnight she'd hear the hooves
galloping down the poplar lined lane,
all three heading homeward once again.
A hundred years passed, the tale oft' told.
Two teens set out, scoffing and bold,
parked their car towards midnight
at the end of the lane,
heard the hooves and never were the same again.
True story. In Kelowna, off Guisachan Road, I would bike past this long lane lined with poplars - it always looked spooky and forbidding. My grandma told me the story of the horse hooves, and one summer the local paper reported two teens, who decided the story was a lot of hooey, parked their car, one full moon night, at the end of the lane and waited. Sure enough, towards midnight, they heard the hooves galloping. It totally freaked them out. I dont think anyone ever lived in that house after the woman died. No wonder.
posted for Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif: Hallowe'en, or Celebrating the Dead. Write a poem that tells a story.