Wind in the canyon

On a warm summer's day

The sun at their backs

Finds the mustangs at play

Ripping and racing

They tear up the ground

They burn up the miles

Til they can't be found

I sometimes wonder

Was it what it seemed?

Did I just see them

Or was it a dream?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Wild horses at play are magic, aren't they? But this poem is not just about horses. It has more to do with those fleeting moments of magic in our lives. See also my poems, "Treasure From The Sky" and "Wherever You May Find Me."

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Tammy Steele's picture

There is nothing quite as captivating as horses at play. Good Poem...thanks