Ode To The Brumby

The beating of his hooves,
his blood and sweat,
stockmen watching his amazing moves,
as the stallion gallops into the sunset.

With mount Kosciusko's pride,
the stockmen crack their whips,
along the brumby's muscular sides,
drawing blood from their shoulders to their hips.

Stirrups up high,
for the stockmen had to see,
across plains, barren and dry,
as the stockmen caught the stallion with glee.

The stallion kicked and fought for life,
but the stockmen fought back,
for no man could stand in the stirrups with such strife,
when off the beaten track.

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