Chasing The Wind

A pretty filly chasing the wind across the plains
She's never been broken, hobbled, or chained
With the sun bouncing off of her glistening chestnut mane
She swore to the elements that she would never be tamed

While he stood on a plateau rearing up at the sky
Snorting and hoofing the ground, watching as this filly fly
He yearned to join in, remembering his races with the wind
But to join may be the restraining of freedom, the ultimate sin

So like a lion looking over his pride, he looked over a potential addition to his harem
She had started chasing butterflies, playfully, not wanting to scare them
Mentally he laughed to himself, watching as she cut back and forth
She performed a three-sixty, first east to west and then south to north

There is no way that she will ever give up this feeling
The butterflies fluttered up and her mind went reeling
There on the cliff was the wind manifested in the flesh
Rearing up, striking his hooves at the sun, as if in protest

She now felt pressured, prancing about as if being observed
The wind was judging from above, each neigh said and each snort served
With his black coat and mane, the ripple of his muscles clearly visible
She longed to chase him now, before all the other fillies visible

But how could she get him to descend from his perch
She could hide within the canyons while he searched
They could play the games of stallions and mares
He would nip at her neck, not in battle, but with care

He looked at her from above as she snorted and pranced
He recognized this for what it was, an invitation to dance
He knew that he wasn't the wind, so he refused to commit this sin
He turned his back and retreated, refusing to make this new friend