The White Stallion
A pure white stallion, in a crowded pen,
Whipped to submission by hating men.
No longer wild and free.
No longer happy you see.
Torchered and hurt, with no cease.
All the Yelling and Screaming, there is no peace.
Yes I agree, he could be so much more,
With wings like eagles, he could soar.
But this white stallion, is truly a broken Heart,
And is forbidden a newborn start.
Torn away, from his family and friends.
Nothing any soul can do, will make amends.
His large black eyes, wild with fright.
They pay no attention, and whip his pelt of white.
In the dark of the night, forced into a stall,
The stallion gives his very last call.
To friends and family, so far away.
Don’t let Abuse be the end of a horse’s days.
Taking a last breath, he says goodbye,
With a smile and a long sigh,
To dragonflies in the summer.
And green Crickets with quite a hummer.
To the lush, green meadows and fields in which he played,
And tall, tall trees which brought him shade.
Taken away, from the thing he loved most.
The Wild is a passion he held close.
Now gone, there is no more.
Of the White Stallion, who died in gore.
The Men took away his marvel.
His spirit and drive in times of sorrow.
He was once a great, great soul.
With great intelligence, even as a foal.
Don’t let another Horse end up like,
The White Stallion.
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