Whose spirit can resist the pull
of seeing horses free
cavorting in unending plains
by nature's sure decree?
They run where few men dare to tread
in badlands courting dread
surrounded by an ancient womb
of peaks that turn blood red
The mesa a hostile place
where rattlers coil in weeds
and horses born of western winds
roam undisturbed to breed
Their gait is unlike any steed
that felt the harness press
or hooves pierced with the nails of smiths
or backs with saddles dressed
Their freedom comes with highest price
each day of life hard won
yet they would die on softer paths
all shackles they must shun
Whose spirit can resist the thrill
Of seeing horses free
Cavorting in unending plains
By nature's sure decree?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem