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With nostrils flared and wind in mane,
the steeds ran wild across the plain
Quick to find secluded pools
to drink from waters clear and cool
They roamed the valleys, plateaus high,
and danced across a midnight sky
***In spring, the foals would join the herd,
upon sweet grass their births occurred
But none was greater born to mare,
with golden mane and reddish hair
Wyoming Red, his given name,
wild horse of legends claim to fame
Broad of shoulder, strong proud head,
coat that glowed like molten lead
Stamping, prancing, snorting steed,
driving herd with lightning speed
With swift action, bold and brave,
his harem horses to be saved
Mighty blaze with wary stare,
rearing hooves, and white teeth bared
Met his foe with furious fire,
and rankled every suitor's ire
***
Men tried to capture, rope and tame,
this stallions stalwart, stocky frame
With lassos circling o're the stud,
stark fury racing thru' his blood
The stallion let no lariat
touch his long, sweat-glistened neck
Instead, he whinnied great alarm
to keep his mares from any harm
***
And now, those days have come and gone,
but the legend of old Red lives on
Folks claim he prances on a cloud,
and say when thunder gets too loud
"Fear not that roar heard overhead!
It's just the hoof beats of old Red."
© 2003, Tamara Hillman
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
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