Cantering through the clover
Listening to a golden flute
He savors this day
With little to say
And dreams of aesthetic pursuit

“I mean to be the master”
He whispers his dubious heart
“The beast cannot win
If I do not give in”
A fight it has been from the start

He has lost some difficult battles
Maybe more than he can count
The inevitable toll
Has tired the poor soul
But strengthened the rebellious mount

The nature of the untamed savage
And the conscience of an inner man
Are engaged in a war
Like never before
The broker doing all that he can