A Trojan Horse Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He was the first to climb inside,
a trap door just beneath the tail,
only skinny warriors apply,
though all, even the fat ones
were in awe over the very thought,
the idea which had been hatched
during morning tea; what if,
someone had uttered, what if
they could go in sight unseen,
armed, of course and dangerous?

The bailiff had, a cautious man,
said no one checks the mouth,
a gift horse is just that, but hey,
some morons would be drawn
to where the sun don't shine,
it is the odour of fresh dung
that whets their appetite, like
hogs and beetles they go wild
so what will be, he asked them
what, my learned friends, will be?

So many have, in much more
modern times, attempted
a revival of the symbol yet,
no one has ever built and sent
into the camp of morons and the like
a Trojan filled with authenticity.