Three horses grinding up the slope, sweat glistening on their flanks.
Hugo; Camilo; Cabeza; have faith in our trusty steeds.
For should they slip, or bump or trip; it’s a mighty long way down.
Camilo carries Mark alight, the leader of the posse;
Try to pass aside, a hoof will fly, she'll let you know she’s bossy.
Bek rides Cabeza, light and sound, quite likely to meander.
To her delight, when time is right, will drop into a canter.
Hugo trails the pack, Dale on his back, uncertain of his carriage.
With spirits akin, a curious thing, fond memory of mornings’ fodder.
We’ve found the spot, right at the top, stark canyon walls ablazen,
Tranquil waters of Laguna Carazon, disturbed only by our wading.
Ride ‘til near dusk, but worry not, for lovely is the greeting.
Exhausted you return, only to discern, a grand dinner there a-waiting.