The old stallion stood in the Stud Run,
once he roamed free.
He was big, bold and spirited,
what she could never be.

Thick of chest, with worthy leg,
black tail, hoof and mane.
A descendant of the prairie,
unchecked by rope or rein.

For twenty years he ran the bunch,
sired five hundred foals.
Thought to old and now replaced,
the years had took their toll.

Yet proud he was, though displaced,
feared by most the Hands.
He stood tall and winded her,
as she moved across the land.

Each day she came, down the trail,
through the wood lot, near the Run.
Small and lithe, with easy gait,
flaxen hair bleached by the Sun.

She too, was part of the land,
with the prairie in her veins.
A flower of the gentle sort,
out on the wind swept plains.

Each time she passed, she called for him,
never fearful of his bite.
And waited, until he came to her,
and nickered, all was right.

Just seven years was her time,
standing where most men, feared to go.
Then the one that came, to feed the cat,
reached out and rubbed his nose.

Ezra Spur resides in Washington State. He was raised on the prairie of middle America and his poetry is a reflection of his youth and a lifetime of memories of the cowboy way of life. He is a sixth "Lariat Laureate" runner up and contributor to the "The Big Roundup" anthology. His poetry is also available on cowboypoetry.com.