There are horses in Asturias
which live in mountains day and night,
surviving heavy rain and freezing dawns.
But they can't escape from wolves,
which leave their carcasses for vultures
or for angry farmers...
How do their owners ever find them,
dead or alive, after long roaming?
They sometimes block roads
just after a bend, a sudden danger
made up for by their sturdy beauty,
with their long, untended manes and tails
which sway in the mountain breeze.
It's sad to know they're mostly sold for meat
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem