The heart of a mustang is like that of a mountain. It stands strong and regal ,
no storms can tear down.
She runs wild and free, while the wind sails through her mane.
There is no destination just the wild calling her name.
She hears it in her heart then starts running with the wind,
the sun on her back and the warmth upon her skin.
She cannot be broken, her heart is oh so strong,
she visits sweet warm places , but never stays too long.
The wild is her home as she runs so free and proud,
when the night air falls on her face she knows that peaceful sound.
For tomorrow she'll set out. running like the wind .
She'll be happy once more, for the wild called again.
Laura C. Wilson
7-27-09