Nostrils flared, he scents the breeze,
Mane softly lifts as the winds gently tease.
Motionless like a statue, as if etched from stone.
A vision of splendour as he stands alone.
Coat of burnished copper reflects the morning
light,
Capturing dawns rays like embers in the night.
His lithe well toned body defines power and speed,
The magic and mystery near impossible to concede.
Warm, deep eyes burns with both wisdom and
fire,
To possess and control him, becomes ones greatest desire.
He is truly a masterpiece of natures creative hand,
Proud in his freedom - He wears no mans brand.
He is a brumby, a legend that remains untold,
Only one of countless many, hearts sure and bold.
Once respected and spoken of with pride and awe,
Now labeled vermin - To be hunted for ever more.
The fear in their hearts lends power to their
stride,
But blindly they run - There is nowhere to hide.
Man will find and destroy mares, stallions and foals,
Only when their heartbeats cease, will he have achieved his goals.
As the last flame of life flickers in their
eyes,
Is there no-one but I, whose soul bleeds and cries?
Have we forgotten the brumbies origin and the reason why?
And now to correct this - must all these beautiful creatures die?
Michelle Cowan
Copyright © Michelle Cowan 2004