Beauregard

Swift muscular courser of old,
Dark-eyed, deep-chested, long-tailed
Egyptian hunter of stags.
What quarry titillates your dreams,
You aristocratic soul of ancient
Pharaohs, English and gentle lords?
What gifts did you bestow?

With Coronado did you roam.
In ancient tombs etchings show.
Did Shakespeare, Chaucer really know?
A friend, beside Von Steuben
At Valley Forge was seen.
At Big Horn River your presence felt
As Custer breathed his last.

And here today with me you are.
Brindled soul whose love
Beyond measure is. Orphaned!
Spared of death, to live anew.
Never to course for sport - but love.
Run at gun no longer calls you.
No Forest Laws I’ll heed.

No Smith’s mechanical lures to chase,
For time has come to end the race.
To learn to be, to live, to love.
And teach I will, and you the same
And both remain, forever friends.
Every second you with me,
Until the end...until I cease to be.

Copyright 2009 Ben Ortiz