Arrow M Performance Horses

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐦𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭
- 𝑀𝒸𝒦𝑒𝓃𝓏𝒾𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝒿𝒶𝓈

They say he was born where the sage meets the storm,
In the black belly light of the plains—
A c**t that came bawlin’ through thunder and form,
With the wild still burnin’ his veins.

No brand ever held him, no rope ever bit,
No rider could sit his back.
He’d ghost through the draws when the night lamps were lit,
And vanish on wind-worn tracks.

Some called him Satan, some called him sin,
Most just prayed he’d pass by.
For he’d haunt the herd pens, circle within,
Then fade like smoke in the sky.

Old Tom tried to break him one Halloween eve,
Swore he’d claim that black outlaw’s pride—
But come dawn there was nothin’ but hoof prints to leave,
And a saddle turned cold on its side.

Now every October when the moon leans low,
And the coyotes start their cry,
A black shape runs where the storm winds blow— And the fences spark as he flies.

So if your horse snorts at shadows tonight,
And your lantern starts to dim
Cross yourself, cowboy, and hold on tight
Black Jack’s still runnin’ the rim.

𝒜𝓇𝓉 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓋𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎: Erin Kathleen Photography, LLC