The Wild Horses Of Bear Canyon
We followed their prints down the sandstone rim,
by Wildwood Slim
Down to the green, green grass;
Over rocky trails where the spoor grew dim,
To the bottom of the canyon pass.
We followed their prints at the streams quiet edge,
Through the twists and bends of the trail,
Where the willow brush formed a scattered hedge,
- And they showed neither shoe nor nail.
We fancied their coats of buckskin and dun,
Palomino, sorrel, appaloosa, bay;
As their necks arched clean in the summer sun,
And throbbing hooves carried them away.
Oh, the wild ones call us to the wild,
Far, far from the blast of a city street;
As distant whicker holds a soul beguiled,
And the scent of their passing is sweet.
But our legs grew wane, our wind came spent,
And we turned at a quiet draw
To go back home, our hearts still rent,
By the wild ones we never saw.