War Horse

THE BLOOD from deep inside
Began to color flecks of foam about the bit.
And pink the moisture in his heavy breath.

And yet the pain,
Sharp and searing hot,
Appeared to make no difference in his stride.
For this great chestnut gelding,
Dark with sweat,
Was all a war horse;
In his pace
And in his sinew,
Bone and blood . . . and in his heart.

The towering General, light-reined horseman
- Light in the saddle, too-
Felt the shot
That hit the horse beneath him.

There is
Some indescribable communion
Between a man and horse
Who’ve shared the roughest roads,
The longest hours,
The hardest battles;
A singleness of spirit, faith unflagging.

The General felt the pain
As though the gelding’s wound was in himself;
It tightened muscles in his jaws and throat.

AND then the second shot
Struck hard the chestnut’s side.
And then the third.
Stunning.
Staggering.

His powerful and easy stride
Became a labored lunge,
Steadied only by the General’s balanced weight
And sure band.
The war horse gathered-
With every ounce of courage in his heart-
To carry on,
To fight the mission through.
Calmingly, .
The General reined him in.
And stepping down
He loosed the girth
And lightly slipped the saddle to the ground.

.