THE STALLION

THE STALLION

Head high, mane flowing
The stallion runs ahead of the herd,
Wild horses on the plains at dusk;
The cowboy utters not a word.

He watches as the horses stop to graze
No moss beneath their feet,
And wonders at the beauty he sees
Then smiles at his defeat.

They will run free another day,
He will not throw the rope
To capture the wild stallion
And deprive it of it's hope.

The stallion turns its head
In the direction of the man -
Tosses his head as if to say
"Catch me - if you can!"