“Often I’ve been off with the morn, the birds yet asleep in their nests,
My horse short-haired, outstripping the wild game, huge-bodied,
Charging, fleet-fleeting, head-foremost, head long, all together
The match of a rugged boulder hurled from on high by the torrent.
A chestnut-horse, sliding the saddle-felt from his back’s thwart,
Just as a smooth pebble slides off the rain cascading.
Fiery he is, for all his leanness, and when his ardour boils on him
he roars – a bubbling cauldron isn’t in it”

Inspired by the poetry of Umro’ Al Qaise (died 620AD)