Wooden Horse
movingfinger
Posts: 117
Today I saw a horse in the woods,
Leaf mane rustling
In a closed window breeze—
How free, how free
I thought
To be a horse in the trees.
When then the horse
Began to neigh
And biliously proclaim
That to be a horse
Of the trees
Is to be a horse
Continually lame
Then I looked
With dismay
At his hooves
Knotted, decayed
And felt a coldness
Grow inside
Pulled out a gun,
Shot
And watched till he died
And all the sap
Ran from his veins
For as free as it is
It is no fun
To be a wood horse
With nowhere to run.
Leaf mane rustling
In a closed window breeze—
How free, how free
I thought
To be a horse in the trees.
When then the horse
Began to neigh
And biliously proclaim
That to be a horse
Of the trees
Is to be a horse
Continually lame
Then I looked
With dismay
At his hooves
Knotted, decayed
And felt a coldness
Grow inside
Pulled out a gun,
Shot
And watched till he died
And all the sap
Ran from his veins
For as free as it is
It is no fun
To be a wood horse
With nowhere to run.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it
-- Omar Khayyam
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it
-- Omar Khayyam
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