The Horse

The Horse Watch his splendor as he strides elegantly across the prairie. His beautiful mane blows like a leaf on a windy November day. Each step. One after the other, gracefully taken, as not to lose the rhythm. The ground beneath him, uneven, uneasy for his stepping, is taken with great arrogance. He stops for only a moment, to nibble on a blade of grass. He looks around, left to right and behind, to be sure that no one is watching his unusual dance on the prairie. He dances with the beating of time, never ending, and only he can hear it. It will never stop, as the hands of time never do. His tail with its one fleck of black upon it sways like a child on a swing. Going faster and swinging higher, to show the pleasure of the dance. It sways with the beat of each hoof trouncing the ground. Will he stop? Possibly However, does it matter? He is free from the world of anger, pain, fear and reprimand. Let him go now, he is free like the wind. No rider shall violate the beauty of his body, no slashes of anger shall be felt on his innocent flesh, and no blood shall be shed to hit the ground, to make a pool of color on the ground. Let him run. He is there no more to take the beatings of the whip. Let him go now, he is free like the wind