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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=521283" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>War Horse</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(In memory of the 3 million horses killed in War) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Taken from Cloven fields, <br>Where skylark and Grouse Linger.<br>Into the bowels of a troopship<br>No scent of Morning Dew, No Bird song<br>Only sweat and urine, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the distant sounds of war.<br>No light, no grass of home, only the whip.<br>For he is bound for Flanders field<br>His rider glorious in his regalia, sword in hand<br>He was his master now, and the horse’s salvation.<br>Kindness, a quiet word, an apple, their bond complete</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His last feed, bathed in a red sun, which<br>Hovered above the morning mist hiding yesterday’s sin, <br>For this is the place where death is king and reason is lost</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This day, where man throws sacrifice to the gods, <br>Like so much sour grain, crushed, and discarded, <br>To blow away into the winds of time, <br>Recorded by nations into the ledgers of loss, <br>For now it is time</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lines gather, then the slow trot, their proud heads, restrained, <br>Their mouths foaming on the bit, <br>These beasts of burden knowing no fear, <br>A site worthy of Valhalla</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Their Trust, in man, galloping where heroes dare not go<br>Onward, onward, they gallop, <br>Row on row into the fog, No grass here, <br>Only mud, and wire, <br>Waiting for the days cull.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This place, Mans, ultimate betrayal, <br>Onward, Onward, Nostril’s flared, Eyes wide, steam rising from his Flanks, <br>Every muscle, straining for the next stride<br>Then the Stumble, a moment’s recovery, <br>Blood pours from his proud neck, then the ground.<br>His head rose, a hand strokes his brow, the last kindness.<br>A wavered shot ushers his life away, like so many before, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No one will weep for you my War horse, <br>No letter home, <br>They’ll be No mention in dispatches, No Memorial<br>For you are just an animal, <br>Sacrificed on the altar of man, left to rot in Flanders field</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But for those precious minutes, he was more than man, <br>This day, of all days, he kept his bond, did not flinch, <br>Though death was all around, <br>Galloped blindly through the death rattle of the guns, face on, <br>No retreat, Onward, Onward, <br>The magnificence of the horse, No equal, never forget, <br>For it is the shame of a nation, a sin of mankind, <br>To undo the hand of god<br>No glory here, only an empty cup left on the altar of insanity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Taken From Cloven Fields, <br>Where the Skylark and Grouse Linger<br>For I will weep for you, <br>My noble friend, <br>My War Horse, You Magnificent Beast</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Steven+Cooke">Steven Cooke</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=521283" data-title="War Horse de Steven Cooke" data-description="(In memory of the 3 million horses killed in War) 

Taken from Cloven fields, 
Where skylark and Grouse Linger.
Into the bowels of a troopship
No scent of Morning Dew, No Bird song
Only sweat and urine, 

And the distant sounds of war.
No light, n..."></div>
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