The Shameful Son Poem by Hugh Lanahan

The tide of the war was to be decided.
Lined up, soaked in red the fighters collided.
The King led his troops through the sea of dead corpses,
with his thoughts on his son painting the horses.

The generals mocked him throughout the night and day,
"Forever a boy. We fight while he plays."
The prince denied violence, for peace he strived.
By his father, his peers, his kingdom, he was despised.

Centuries later, resting in a gallery,
A painting of stallions with an everlasting legacy