Since times of Spanish exploration,
They ran like gods of speed and thunder,
Across the open plains and wild country,
With eyes on fire and flowing manes.

All colors on their backs of majesty,
They roamed in packs, a brotherhood,
Hell bent on some, yet distance future,
No man could tame them readily.

Their pace so frantic, a restless brood,
They feared all men, and rightly so,
So when the time came to contain them,
They ran their fastest, uneven road.

Living off the land they circled,
In canyons vast with red-rock walls,
Near streams so frigid, shadows deep,
They'd stop to have their fill of life.

Their snorts and breathing, surreal it was,
A call to distance friends who still roamed,
Their muscles hardened, never slowed them,
A magical part of what nature showed.

Then came the conquistadors, gold to find,
With needing means to travel the land,
Saw these gods of flight and fancy,
Deciding they should conquer all.

But wild resist man's arrogant pleasure,
Some died a royal death then now alone,
And man, the most selfish, took their freedom,
But could not stop their restless souls.