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he was born in the time of
the turning of leaves
in a moonlit valley by a
swift, foamy stream
the days gave him strength
bringing courage and pride
‘til he challenged the
elders matching their strides
then the group lagged behind
for he ran like the breeze
so he’d stop for a moment
near the shade of the trees
while the sun warmed his
mane and the wind cooled his back
this lanky young colt led
the last mustang pack
he led them thru seasons
that soon became years
thru trials, past treasons,
and over their fears
but his fear was as piercing
as the wolf’s howl at night
the two-leggers closed in
and he foresaw their might,
as they swam in the river
one crystal clear day
the beasts and their ropes
took his brothers away
and they were hot on his
trail but he galloped and laughed
‘til he realized the fall of
the last mustang pack
when he finally stopped
running, he scuffed and he cried
they’ll not capture me, for
my freedom i’ll die
he bolted and snorted with
angry hoof beats
and climbed the tall
mountain embracing it’s peak
now against an orange sunset
in a wild western sky
stands a picturesque
stallion with head held so high
and he dreams of the place
where he’ll be free at last
to again lead the charge of
the last mustang pack
Lithopolis, Ohio ‘79
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