The bell tower struck at one certain hour,
For this moment only, one horse awaited its power.

Black Stallion looked up at the full moon,
It was a beautiful night, the midst of June.

Black Stallion ran, his mane flowing behind,
Where he was headed, not one could find.

"There he goes" the town would say,
For Black Stallion would always cross their way.

The midnight sky, his only light,
Seemed to anticipate this very night.

It shone brighter then usual, lighting the trail,
There he would trot, up to the rail.

He would then stand not moving a inch,
When the loud train approached, he wouldn't even flinch.

He looked around for his best friend,
Whom he would wait for until the very end.

When the train had once again departed,
Black Stallion left, tender-hearted.

Black Stallion looked back, as a young man approached him,
His face was kind but also very grim.

He patted the horse and with barely a sound,
"He's not coming back boy, he's buried in the ground."

Black Stallion left, alone and depressed,
He stopped for a moment, to take a rest.

Black Stallion never returned by the day break,
The town, in concern, head to the lake.

Up the river they searched for days,
Looking for the black horse in the light haze.

Finally one day they found him, up on a hill,
The site they encountered had gave them a chill.

Black Stallion was dead, lying on his side,
How he had gone, it was simple, suicide.

The town buried Black Stallion where he would belong,
Right next to his owner, their friendship so strong.

Yet still every year, in the midst of June,
Black Stallion would be seen under the full moon.