Her golden hair meets the sun, she's searching to be free
her memories, like the turning tide, have been washed away to sea
she rides the distant horses to what she's searching for
and she leaves her past behind like broken seashells on the shore
sunset always fills her should, her thoughts pure, like gold
grateful that, when down and out it was not her dreams she sold
You can see this golden beauty on the horses in the sky
as you dream, look past the morning sun and wave as she rides by
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem