Krushan prances with tail aloft, Over ground that is either hard or soft. His neck is arched, his head held high, As he calls forth his kingly cry. His powerful body is an inky grey, And is covered with speckles there to stay. White, silver, flowing mane and tail,  He is an Arabian, handsome male. His body is strong, and good for speed,  And none could wish for a more fiery steed. His coat always shines with a glossy sheen, He's always held alert whether healthy or lean. His head is not delicate, as befits mare, But is large and handsome, alert and aware. Krushan's eyes are a thing of wonder, They are luminous, expressive, and awesome as thunder; The mares of Krushan run swiftly free, As they play and prance in the tumbling sea. Bay, chestnut, fleabitten and grey. They see their king and stop to neigh. Krushan gazes at his mares long and proud, Then he neighs a call exciting and loud. The blood of the mares turns to fire, As they hear the call of their foals' sire. Snorts and nickers ripple from them,  Of one accord they go up to him. Quivering muzzles are outstretched, The excited herd is a thing to be sketched. Then out of the cement stables nearby, Come running some grooms, so the mares say goodbye. They gallop across the sandy desert, So that their grooms they will avert. Krushan snorts at his shackles on the ground, Then lifts his head to survey his Kingdom around. The stables to his right, mostly empty now, The blue sea ahead, on which sails a dhow. The palm frond shade for his mares on his left side, The desert sands behind him, stretching far and wide. Krushan stands posed, now content, His mares not very far have went. His colts nearby play with strength and zest, But the ones truly his stand out from the rest. These are the black ones, who shall have his coat, And their trots are high and with his float. Their bodies and heads mostly belong to him, Their eyes have his alertness. Bright, not dim. Their tails are proudly lifted and curled, For Krushan has made them for this world!