In the leafless vales
Where the stale wind blows,
I heard a solemn cry—
A deep-throated reverie, of Wild doomed to die.
It beat upon the air
And rose in echoing wave,
Streaming with fervid heart,
Chorused in storming rage.
Stone and earth quaked as hammered by hoof,
Shimmering souls leaping to flight.
Muscles rippling- pulsing with held power,
Legs thundering with might.
Tail and mane heralded their coming roar,
Tousled and fluttered like silken standards.
Ebony, gold, silver, white and flame,
Coats flowing and glimmering with light,
Rushing of spirit that none may tame.
But this day their kismet shall alter,
Hunted long miles by Men,
Pain for cent, all to soon falter.
Shouts grew as they pass a stark gate,
Bolted inside
With a clear snap of fate.
The sky dimmed in sorrowful shade,
Thickened with their final neighs.
A cold sudden blast shrieked before it fade.
Soaked red the pen’s soil,
And forever again.
I had heard a solemn cry—
Freedom and ache,
A deep-throated reverie:
The Mustangs doomed to die.
