Eyes that did not blink when the arrow grazed his neck
and caught the ancient meaning in a fleeting, burning glance.
Ears that heard the cannon´s roar, the wispered words of love.
Skin of shot silk that knew the summer´s heat, the winter´s frost.
Hooves that traced new paths to land unknown to man.
A heart whoes beat would quicken, keeping pace with the wishes of his master.
Tireless vigour, proving no demands for him too great.
His spirit shared the dreams and hopes of Old Spain´s men of iron,
while at his proud feet the conquered nations lay.
He lives yet. Only ask, and he will weave a spell
to light the dark recesses of your being
spinning around you a web of sweet delights.
He will be your children´s playmate; a child himself, he´ll do no harm.
He´ll pardon like no other your omissions, errors, thoughtless handling.
His back, a throne of feathers, will bear you smoothly at the trot and the gallop.
He´ll go where others dare not.
He´ll stand firm where others flee in terror.
You´ll discover that the pirouette is easy, that a rein back can go on forever.
That you need not be a great rider to preform airs above the ground.
At the spur´s light touch, he´ll take flight with the wind.
Bearing you safetly through the air laden with long forgotten fragrence.
With him, the distant monutains will be clearer, brighter the light of the stars.
The trilling of the nightingale more joyful, sweeter the gurgling of the streams.
And at the last you´ll understand why he was chosen one of kings