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 |  Proud heritage of the wild horses roaming free.
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Distant bounds on earth a thunder cloud lights the sky a mournful cry, hail with wind falling down along the shores, the Stallion grey neighs in pain from lighting strikes, piercing deep rolling to his knees rising again in strength of power. Bred for hardship like ancestors of noble stock in anger, where he was born on the windy shores near the sea, lashing out rising in fury his hooves stomping sand. His mare with foal standing proud, neighing loudly healing him in pastures green, roaming together such rich memories these valleys of home, like some far off fragrance of a wild rose head held high snorting at the wind. Lightning hiding beyond the clouds flashed the long reflected rays, the baby foal born this day stumbling falling swaying, in the sunshine of new life. Blessed the hillside to rest his grand process being alive, proud heritage as the wild horse heading this course to see the sea, six foreign leagues before him now and hear gulls swooping screeching, mournful cries diving across the waves. Foamy sea horses surfing along the shore, silver in the silence the stallion and the mare trotting with their foal a family triumphantly free, my view from high up on my Granddad’s farm the lonely open space there on the veranda, looking down the valley a beautiful view wild horses rolling in the low tide. |
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