What Is A Brumby

A brumby is a wild horse
That runs wild and free
That doesn't need to be shot
Or be pested
All he wants to do is eat a bit of grass or
To prevent the bush fires from burning through
He gallops away if we go too close
And looks at us wondering why
We don't love them
I wish they could just be free
With no one hurting them
And to continue their names as tourist attractions.
There are bays blacks and palominos
They don't like being surrounded
So they usually stay away from us
People think they're pests
But they are being framed
Buy pesky pigs, dogs, cats and stray cows to.
They gallop around in big and small herds
But sometimes they just stay alone
There are millions of them in Australia's land
And are an important part of Australia's history
There are different breeds including the rare Waler

By Megan Schumer

A Mountain Brumby

I am a mountain Brumby
That gallops all day long
I watch their herd
As if they were me own
I lay down at night
And watch the soaring eagle
Land on it's prey
And cause a fight
I am a mountain brumby
That canters all day long
Ignoring any human
That doesn't hurt me at all
I walk on the hillside
Where my friends lay dead
And paw the ground with anger
To the humans that caused this
I honour those that died
And protect their gravesites
With my mate named eagle
And lay down at sun set
To have a big rest.

By Megan Schumer

The Brumby Lover

One black stallion gallops with pain
Another bay mare lies down to moan
One little foal rots in the bush
Another little foal is fine and well
One little man comes with a gun
The brumbies get shot in the gut
One lady by the name of Jan
Comes to rescue them from that man.
She takes them home in her care
In a new trailer on the back of her van.
An elderly woman donated the trailer
Who loved the brumby like any woman?
The brumbies are in good homes now
Galloping in a big paddock with hay and water

By Megan Schumer

The Forgotten Brumby

Why do they shoot me?
And leave me there to die
Why don't they bury me?
And have a cry
Why do they chase me in their trucks?
And break my legs like snapping a pair of tusks
Why do they hate me?
Even if I rest.
And complain to an officer
That I am a pest.

By Megan Schumer

Freedom

A horse that is called a brumby
That runs free in the bush or the
Desert where it is dry.
It can gallop anywhere
Without no apples
And some come near humans
But others stay away.
Blacks, browns and buckskins too
That travel in herds or alone
They graze on grass and are sometimes pest
But they can't help it
I think they're the best.
Culling is cruel,
But people do it
They lay there in pain
For a week or two
Until they suffer.
All year round a foal is born
And sometimes kicked out
If seen a threat,
If another stallion comes to the herd
The stallion will attack
Both will give a mighty rear and kick
Each other in the back
One could die or be injured
Or one could get extra mares
If a human goes too close mostly they might attack
But their natural instinct is to gallop up the track.
Some will eat blackberries
Others will eat grass
But they all drink water that's what makes them go fast.

By Megan Schumer

A Horse on Kosciuszko's Side

A horse on Kosi's side
That is wild and free
His name is Brumby
For his wild, wild stride.
He follows us around
Like a lost Roo
And sticky beaks at us
When we are trying to cook our food.
He runs away
When we try to catch him.
And gallops to the herd
So we won't catch them
He gallops down steep hills
Without chipping his hooves
And he will attempt to steal our horses
Especially they're cute
And he will plan to take them home
To his home land.
He never gets caught
And hardly gets seen,
By an experienced horseman with blue and muddy jeans.
He rears at the sunset
And bucks at the sunrise
'His mum and dad were born at those very times.

By Megan Schumer

A Windy Death

A horse in the hills
Galloping wild and free
Has no head collar or a paddock
It just wanders around
Making no damage.
And neighs while his at it
A few mares answer his calls
They gallop up to him with a stallion and some foals
The two horses rear and kick eachother in the neck
The dominant stallion wins and the trespasser looses.
Sadly it lies down and dies.
The stallion gallops off with the herd and leaves the carcass there.

By Megan Schumer