The Red Roan
She suffers no more
The red roan of rust.
With her gentle spirit,
Even in death
She followed my lead.
I have visions of her now
Running free,
In wheat fields and tall grass
Up on hind legs
Waving gracefully at the sky.
No saddle or bit
To bind her,
No bars of steel to
Hold her back.
She is free
She is free
She is free
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Poetry: Horses
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