The Mountain Horse

The Mountain Horse Its cold at dawn in the Great Divide And the frost lies thick on the mountainside, The bite of the cold air nearly makes you choke And breath from your nostrils like dragon smoke. The saddles are on and the cinch is tight, Bridles are buckled and a bit to bight, The horsemen are ready to break the camp, The mist still rising and the bush is all damp. The mobs been found in a clearing up ahead, They’re all wild horses and they’re mountain bred. Bushes flying by lashing legs and sides, There’s danger here now for anyone who rides. An overhanging limb so bend down low Around rocks and wombat holes we go There’s a mighty log we’ll have to jump Look out, look out avoid the stump. The big bay stallion leads his harem through the creek There’s no place here for faint hearted or the meek, Their hooves are like thunder and stock whips are cracking Horses are snorting and their courage is not lacking. Down along the valley where he knows every stride Down along the valley where the wings are stretching wide, But it’s too late, he knows it now, there’s nowhere left to run, He turns and rears up high, his fight has just begun. Something about these mountains makes you want to stay And a mountain horse’s spirit you cannot take away. My mind wanders back to a day not long ago, When the horsemen came and found my mob and I put on the show. The Swagman Written November 14th, 2001 © on Nov 13 2001 04:52 PM PST   0 • 10