For the dverse prompt. A shoe poem
Hot blooded horse, iron-shod,
strikes sparks against the dark,
with seven nails for luck.
The night fears cringe in shadow deep,
and on the door the iron shoe hangs,
so they will not pass.
Stars watch the winding road,
the misfortune that creeps,
bright sparks, iron-struck,
in their solemn glitter and pomp,
too distant to ward the house.
So on the door, the star metal hangs,
a loop of luck with seven star nails,
and sometimes, misfortune creeps by.