A HORSE CALLED STORM

 Jet black, tall and strong, he stands in the morning 

 Out in the grassland, roams this free spirit.

 Never ridden, not a man calls him theirs,

 Answers to not a soul, does this horse left alone.

  His name is storm, dark as the night,

  Moves like lightning, sounds like thunder.

  Fierce, and at times, mean is this beast,

  Untamed by man, natural and free.

  He is friends with each day, land where he runs,

 A horse called storm standing in the sun.

                           Keith Garrett

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