A girl lived on a mountain tall.
The rush of wind and the plummeting fall.

“The horses” she cried.
Thunder galloping and stomping outside.

“Will they find the fodder?” She wondered to stars.
The morning brought a squeal echoed in memoirs.

Day in and night throughout the horses came.
Their hooves too gentle against the sugar cane.

A girl lived on a mountain tall.
The horses had never really come at all.