The Silver Stallion

Silver Stallion was his name,

This king of the desert waste,

A silver cloud was his mane,

Dark eyes in his silver face.

His hide was sleek and silver,

The sun shone on him warm,

He was born on a mesa cold

In the midst of a desert storm.

Some folks would want to tame him,

To break that spirit so proud,

To roach that mane of silver,

That mane of silver cloud.

But I would rather watch him

As he sails the sea of sand.

The Silver Stallion is pretty,

He knows no master's hand.

Last night he stood on a cliff,

The moon rose in the sky.

Last night he screamed his challenge-

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