Wild horses run in heavens amok
her chariot blazes fire,
to me she is no less than god
I hold her temple higher.
She speaks the purest tongue of all
with words that cut through ages,
and all those men who hear her call
be freed from shackled cages.
She rolls around her wrap of stars,
then swivels to the Sun
and when we think her heart is ours,
is when her battles won.