The Gallant Stallion
by Paul Harwitz
He was the finest black stallion I had ever seen.
His flanks and legs bespoke power and speed.
In his wild, outlaw, open-range eyes flashed a fiery, proud gleam.
To capture his wildness and tame it, I felt a burning need.
I almost didn't want to catch him, with his midnight coat.
I almost hoped he'd continue to elude me in the mountains and plains,
In the cool-watered meadows, and then I'd remember the reins,
The reins I wanted to gentle him to, and not just for gloat.
He was a wily devil, cunning, quick, and sure,
Fast as the wind, but I knew the salt-lick that would lure
That gallant stallion, for I too knew the land,
And that savvy would help me capture him with a rope in my hand.
Many times I'd tried to catch him before,
But he'd always, just at the last moment, escape.
Yet, this time, somehow I knew I would finally win,
And that this brave black stallion I would bring in.
My heart raced as I spurred my mount to wear my quarry out.
I'd remember to slow down my breathing, then I'd shout,
And hoorah him and harry him without remorse or relent,
For my plan was to get his vast, wild energy spent.
He was slyly circling towards his favorite salt-lick,
And he thought he could lose me, but I was too quick.
Just as he reached it, I captured him with my catch-rope.
His eyes showed he knew that of escape there was no hope.
I brought him to the home ranch with pride and respect.
Though courageous, he worried, 'cause he didn't know what to expect.
There'd be many a brag around campfires as that story I'd tell.
In my cowboy heart, I felt my pride start to swell.
"Oh, there you are," my Mother said as she walked out the kitchen door.
"I'm going to need that mop after supper to clean the floor.
Now, please give me back my clothesline, my little buckaroo so bold."
You see, I was a brave cowboy, even though I was only eight years