National Poetry month poem of the week

I believe that it’s better to “show don’t tell” when writing about a subject. I stay away from just describing something and instead use words that will lead the reader to create an image in their mind.
Can you guess, before I get to the end of this poem, who the Silver Stallion is?
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I Ride the Silver Stallion
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I ride the silver stallion
Through marshes and wetlands.
Spurring him on, faster, and faster
His gallop parts the grass, the egrets fly.
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Above, the sky turns menacingly dark.
Rain falls like stones from a slingshot
Pelting me and my silver stallion.
He moves slower, the egrets disappear.
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Into the mist we ride
The morning sun obscured.
A hawk circles above us
A town passes by the wayside.
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The rain drops glisten off his sides.
I feel his movement beneath me
As we enter the dark tunnel.
Only his hoof beats can be heard.
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We come out into the light
Then submerge into Penn Station,
The drab canyons of Manhattan above.
Another wet Friday’s commute begun.
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I slip my novel into my bag,
Stand up and move slowly with the crowd.
My steed, the silver train,
Now a fond fantasy, left behind.