Highwayman

Hooves dash the road
Reins pulled back hard
Hiding and skulking
Behind hawthorn tree.

Wheels turn over, round
Ready for a halt but not
So soon as this ambush.

Ghastly figure emerges
Shouts the call so clear.
Cutlass and pistol prize
The coin and jewel away.

It’s all in the moor land mind.
All just a faraway figment.
Today’s robbing roadster
Hides in dark legers;
Plies dark statistician’s art.

Martin Delemare
11th July 2006