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Poem

The last of a dyeing breed, outlaws they are
Running away from captivity, wanting to be free
High mountain mustangs coming on the run
Day break is saying good night to the evening star
Old lone wolf howling at the moon under a pine tree
And hello to the morning Sun

A chill in the air,the breeze is still
Sounds of the herd, echo off the canyon walls
Rocks rolling, creek water flying high
A sight to compare with none, a Rocky Mountain thrill
Snow is melting, pine trees standing tall
Reaching up to the sky

Mountains dragons blowing smoke and steam
Their nostrils flared and eyes are red
Bucking, pitching and kicking high
They know that it is about the end of their dream
They can feel what is ahead
Heavy hearts and a tear in their eye

They drink their fill, then slowly retreat
To high mountain meadows where they graze
Bathing in the morning sun
Watching for cowboy, with ropes of their defeat
Trying to change their ways
Let the ponies run

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