Proud!

She stood sixteen hands proud and strong

grey with black mane

a young horse just arrived from England

fresh and innocent

from the safety of home to the battle front

taken by the army

to carry the Captain upon her sturdy back

heading the attack!

 

Far from her master who she knew from birth

the open fields to roam

into the bloodbath of war of mud and death

a multitude of animals

keeping the war machine in constant motion

dying with the soldiers

interacting in human conflicts had no choice

no rights or voice!

 

This was a time of man and animals integrating

shown much kindness

even more brutality in of war of young lives lost

horses worked mercilessly

until they fell with the soldiers the proud mare

was tough and stubborn

wanting to be home from those she was taken

for so many were forsaken!

 

After this barbaric war had finally come to an end

there were eight million

horses mules and donkeys killed in their service

to assist perpetual greed

many were sold for meat but thankfully thousands

came back to blighty

the proud mare whose name was Belle was saved

her bravery praised!

 

Bruised and scared she came returned to the farm

she loved and knew

to open spaces free from noise and destruction

shells and shrapnel

the army officer to came home and kept in touch

both never to forget

those times of depravity and this futile carnage

of mans endless rage!

 

Belle lived happily until she succumbed to age!

 

#TheFoureyedPoet.

 

 

 

 

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The Tattered Flag!

On the edge of an open field hung the tattered flag

the only indication of the battle

long forgotten the torment of lost innocence

or names of the fallen soldiers

one more conflict where nothing had been won

there a feeling of death still hung!

 

Bodies buried in shallow graves where each fell

young lives ended in torment

grass now covered the site and sheep grazed

where restless souls still roam

no cannon or musket fire nor smell of cordite

as two armies clash in the fight!

 

Silence is what greets the visitor to this field

pleasant during daylight hours

as the shadows lengthen a mist hangs low

and voices have been heard

crying out longingly on the endless breeze

rustling the grass and trees!

 

The tattered flag blows proudly in its salute

to those nameless soldiers

from long ago whose spirits will never leave

all those families of the fallen

remember their ancestors ultimate sacrifice

in war a cruel and futile device!

 

The tattered flag remains as a remembrance!

 

The Foureyed Poet.

 

 

 

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