Running swiftly, over rippling hills,
From deep black pools, to misty greys,
Blurred in motion, heralded by brays.
A ford erupts, in endless spray,
Jewelled bodices, sparkle unrivaled,
‘Till the river’s past, the storm, subsided.
The thunder rolls, under the sunlight,
Children of the wind, battle the plains,
Barren steppes against flowing manes.
Elegant forms that pass with grace,
Memory etched, image engraved,
Creatures of freedom, cruelly enslaved.
Whipped and beaten, spurred upon,
Not all take pain, some take pleasure,
The spirit we seek be one, together.
But forget the heartache, the dark past,
For beauty is as beauty does,
Wild mustangs, rearing studs.
Wild!