Holding the great and noble horse’s mane,
following the long and windy track,
going at hi-speed, wishing I had reins,
with the moving fire right at our back,

Seeing the wild animals speeding away,
running with minds set on getting out,
trying to keep the soaring flames at bay,
hearing the crackles and pops all about.

Heart pumping and legs burning but still going,
Huffing and puffing with all my weight,
a great wild bush brumby worth your knowing.
This fantastic horse is my best mate,  

Watching the sun going down through his ears,
wondering how far this fire zone went.
It feels like we have been running for years,
now that most of his power is spent.

Running for the break in amidst the trees.
Almost out of the toxic black cloud.  
Finally there, going week at the knees,
reaching the ground just recently ploughed,

Greeting all the firemen with tired smiles.
Slowly walking away from the heat,
with zero energy after those miles.
This horse, my mate, none could ever beat.

Days after my nerve-racking bush sprint,
devastation had now set in,
for those where the fire left a foot print,
years worth of growth were now in the bin,  

The rider wasn’t asked what happened, of course.
for three weeks that ride was all the talk:
gossip about a fire, a rider, and horse.
It all began that day with a walk.
    
Sometimes I meet him out in the moonlight
and we remember that fateful day.
We were friends at first sight
soon I wish we could go race away.

Friendship is like a never ending game
over bumps and potholes like a tyre.
Wether a dog or horse, none can tame,
friendship can even endure bush fire