She

She has a name for us, the Mustang and for me,
"Children of the Wind", she calls us,
I see her there,
Rooted to the earth,
A restless spirit, she is,
trapped in an ill-fitting
Physical manifestation which she begs to be let loose from.
She gazes at me with a yearning heart.
"Take me with you", I hear her begging thoughts,
Will she learn the truth,
That she needs not, my wings,
to embrace the sky.
The wind is hers to ride,
If only she lets drop the mists that shroud her spirit so,
For she is only as free as she believes herself to be.