A mare, a colt, stallions and fillies,
jumping and playing, just acting silly.

The quiet broken by shots,
one mare dropped on the spot.

The band broke and ran,
galloping over dry land.

You could smell the fear,
as ones so hurt and dear,
failed to run free no more,
Thirty-Four dead in all,
shot by a dirty dog.

One that surely should be caught,
thinking how hard the horses fought.

Hung by the neck one day,
the way he was meant to pay.