He's never had a tourist on his back,
meandering through forest trails of green,
nor won some toff a fortune on the track;
for spur and whip are things he's never seen.
The choice of when to breed is his to make,
in concert with the mare whose eye he's caught.
He drinks, not from a trough, but from a lake;
no trainer's ever forced him to cavort.
He gallops on the slopes and plains by day
and stops to feed on fresh green shoots of grass.
Few humans I have met along the way
have half this stallion's bravery or class.
His hoofbeats make the treetop bellbirds sing—
throughout these parts, the mountain brumby's King.
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Author Notes
Image: public domain, source http://www.peakpx.com/586423/horses-running-photo
Thanks for reading.
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