You should see him run

I had a bit of writer's block so I asked my sister what I should write about. She suggested (big surprise) ponies. The only time I've approached her appreciation and love for horses is when I've seen them run.
By coincidence (if there is such a thing), this poem and the previous one ended up with (almost) the same form.

For Rachel 12/19/11
An old brown pony stands like Alexander's steed
Now marble-made, bears weight and smells of dirt and feed.
How long has the neck held that head all wrapped in hair,
Stiff from the cold, solid in the open air?

But when it's warm, you should see him run,
Flesh transformed to wings taking flight
on feet, like the fleeting flight of the Great Heron
carrying might, brushing aside the grass like light,

A symphony of grace and muscles, all one.
I'm telling you, when it's warm, you should see him run.