I saw a small herd of horses play,
A Pinto, a black,
A beautiful bay.
Running they went as swift as a stream,
As fast as a lark,
As smooth as a dream.
Kicking, whinnying, biting and much more,
They played without fear,
Yet harder than before.
The big, strong black stole the Pinto's treat,
The others joined the game,
Dancing on their feet.
They all settled down to my dismay,
They started to graze,
All except the bay...
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