Neptune* Poem by Neil Young

Curving now
And moving fast,
The wave rolls higher than the dead of war.

Growing now,
Gathering on
The tip of foam, a line of horses heads.

Faster now,
Their bodies formed
Of frothing wave exude quick-scented madness.

Wilder now,
They touch the shore.
Webbed feet and white legs strong, race on in anger.

Smaller now,
Their manes dissolve
In sand; their bubble-eyes wash shell, wash hand.

Inches deep
These figures melt,
Retreat, with cursing eyes for wars deceit.

Further out,
Impulsive lines
Raise helpless heads, come charging to their death.