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There is beauty
Hidden in a scene where a white Brumbie gallops.
In a meadow’s green
Cutting through thin air,
Swiftly
Like an Irish arrow
In untamed freedom.
Butterflies circle its path,
Meadow birds too
Chanting lines of urging it on,
Line by line in chorus.
Strength in his muscles written,
There on his face will painted.
Day’s mist cools him down,
Dew on his feet a blessing..
He roams these parts,
And graze like a Prince that makes love
To a Princess’ neck
Neighing
Like he owns tomorrow.

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