Written by DebsB
4-13-2011
Living in the hollers,
Where you hear and see,
Trees high up on the hill
A stallion rares up,
To protect his hollow,
The stream below runs over rocks,
Wind gusts through the hollow,
As the gusts come we hear a cry,
The harder the wind the louder the cry,
The stallion marks the hollow that crys.
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