Bureau of Land Management and the Mustangs

The meanness of spirit
it cuts to the core
parsimonious thoughts
niggardly for
objections to mustangs
left on the range
history stood up
expecting no change

I look at each baby
in a pitiful state
ribs every one of them
showing, how great is that
so frail and so needing
some sustenance soon
like the others so shakey
for them its high noon
its wrong to ship horses
to slaughter, for we
know one may be the mother
of the baby I see
and others are starving
who need love and care
not a meanness of spirit
that some deign to share