A dark rider flies alone
For grim he is in blood and bone
With a raven on his wing
Through a flute does he sing

This dark rider is stubborn
Morbid and forlorn
But he cares for his ken
With the might of his pen
But taking his time
Getting lost in rhyme

He once lived in a land of small peoples
Who have built great cities of tall steeples
Being a man tall and broad
Among the small who looked and awed

Then battled in the land of wizards
Conquering magical blizzards
With an ancient serpent
Met where he doth repent

Now this dark rider
Sails a bold glider
In the skies of the gods
Beating all the odds

This poem was written for Wout Wynants, a writer, musician, pilot and father who dreams of great journeys and epic adventures.