The wild horse of imagination;
I don't know the colour of its skin,
I've heard it comes to us, on its whim
Apparently, when we're actively seeking;
A rider, the horse seeks, proud and serene
To carry on its back, through the forest,
Over the mountains, along the river banks
To a grassland, of freedom and rushing winds.
If it were indeed to come, where would you be?
Would you search for reins, or set yourself free?
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