Winged Steeds of Mist

Winged Steeds of Mist Out in the vales of freedom, of rippled hills and plunging canyons, there is nought but wind to carve through the wild horse Light mane, nostrils flared, veins like sacred rivers; heart with a hawk spirit flight strikes music from bright pinioned hooves Coats of shimmering autumn, pied shadows, blinding snow Time and mist have scribbled fear into the sinews Winged at the first breaking sounds of intrusion fear of capture awakens a scream far older than the sound it emits escape,escape pound,strive, wild horse snort fire and acquire the secret of flying