The wild stal­lion

Isis Town and Country - - Opinion - By NANCE BUR­NETT

A sil­hou­ette in black he stands, So finely etched against the sky; His mane and tail are toss­ing

high: So tall he stands at six­teen hands. His ears are pricked, his nos­trils

flare. He whin­nies, calls his mares

around And they obey with­out a sound And nudge their foals along with

care. His stiff­ened joins he dares not

show: He could not stand another fight When van­quished dis­ap­pears

from sight He sighs: each son is fu­ture foe.

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