The Wind in His Mane

With nostrils flared wide, and a coat like spun gold,

The stallion he stands, a story untold.

Muscles ripple beneath a coat of fire,

A creature of freedom, with boundless desire.

His mane, a cascade of wind-tangled hair,

Flows wild and untamed, a spirit so rare.

His eyes, like dark pools, hold the glint of the sun,

A promise of power, a race to be won.

He paws at the earth, with a hoof strong and sure,

Impatient to gallop, on endless azure.

His whinny rings out, a call to the sky,

A stallion majestic, soaring ever so high.

He charges like thunder, a blur on the plains,

The wind in his mane, a symphony's strains.

No rider can tame him, his spirit so free,

The lord of the meadows, eternally.

So raise high a glass, to the stallion so bold,

A creature of legend, a story of old.

May he run ever wild, with the sun as his guide,

The wind in his mane, forever his pride.