Mustang

MUSTANG


I am the mustang,
The primeval wanderer of the American West.
From pure stock were my ancestors born.
Now I am born of the wind.
From the Arabian, the Spanish barb,
The Tennessee walker, the saddlebred,
The Andalusian, the Morgan.
The Spaniard brought my fathers, my mothers,
The American and the Frenchman too.
They were set free, lost or escaped.
Now I run free, of mixed blood,
With my flags flying,
From the supple crest of my neck,
From behind me,
My flags of victory,
My flags of glory.
In the high plains wind they toss,
The wind that carries scent to me of such as you.
You are not my master.
I am your equal.
If you capture me and treat me as such,
I will respect you.
In time I may be your partner.
But I will never be your slave.
I am the mustang,
The primeval wanderer of the American West.
From pure stock were my ancestors born.
Now I am born of the wind.
Born of fire and of the flood,
Of thunder and of rain,
And of the lightning that pounds the earth
As my hooves pound that same earth.
Ancient am I, ancient as the wisest stallion,
Yet new as the brightest colt.
Follow me, learn my ways;
In time, you may gain my wisdom,
And the wisdom of my forbears.
And if you listen, if you watch me long enough,
You too may one day be one with the land.
Without me, without my kind,
You will not survive.
I am the mustang.
I am born of the wind.

© Kirby Jonas, April 17, 2010