The wild horse galloped with nostrils flared,
the hoofs barely touched the ground,
and golden mane flowed over his head.
A rare breed, a vagabond, gallant in speed-
Appeared to have donned a red robe,
alert to dangers around
that his fiery eyes scanned and probed.
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good poem , its golden mane would do but i think.. instead of golden manes…
Thanks Koshy.
” The Red Mustang ” , does have that dreamscape quality about it. Upon seeing the poem’s title,I found myself as a reader anticipating a verse about an automobile.Proof if any were needed that a poem’s title is not necessarily an indicator of its subject matter
Simple and awesome,as ever.
Thanks Louis.
Appreciate it, Fathima.
Love it!
Glad you liked it, Gina.