Brethren of the Wind
She nuzzled her first born,
Until he ungainly stood.
Fresh birthed, dewy damp,
Rocking unsteadily, a new life.
The herd settled, calmed by mother instinct.
Then slowly moved down the rocky draw,
Hooves dance, tattooing the morning mist,
Shaking the night loose, dawns promise,
Roaming the lush verdant growth.
Singing the song of the herd, brethren of the wind.
And the little foal understood the song,
They heard his first call.
Joyfully hearing the whiny of a new life.
But it wasn’t always so, with master-men.
Confined to the plow and jig, consigned
To repetition, plodding nowhere
To stall and back as leaves fall
And blossom’s end in endless cycles.
But now they’re running free,
And they’re strong for the herd is many.
Manes and hooves, glistening forelocks sprint
Breaking morning’s silence.
Hush, they instinctively stop, shiver
And smell the man-masters approach.
Frightened, instinctively moving,
The herd’s survival depends on escape,
Fleet of foot, to run from the man-master smell.
Down the shallow draw the hooves pound,
And up the crest with nowhere to go.
Their stretched out lithe bodies
Momentarily outlined by the evening sun.
Over the edge they plunge
For freedom’s sake, thousand foot down.
Copyright © James Gibbons | Year Posted 2010
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