i wrote this in 1964, heavily influenced by Albert Noyes' "The Highwayman."
Out of the night rode the silver-hued stallion
with Wilson a’plunging his heels in its side.
On to the dawn, Wilson drove like a hellion
with fury in passion, fury in pride.
Mud-water splashed on the melting white roadbed.
The horse hooves horrendously thundered away.
The red drops increased, his followers noted,
the followers who traced his tracks on that day.
Not tracked down for justice, but tracked down for vengeance,
Wilson lived best on the day that he died
His dying courage, the stallion's allegiance,
Now rest with his corpse on a sloping hillside.