THE HORSES
My father bred great horses,
Chestnut, grey, and brown.
They grazed about the meadows,
And trampled into town.
They left the homely meadows
And trampled far away,
The great shining horses,
Chestnut, and brown, and grey.
Gone are the horses
That my father bred.
And who knows whither?...
Or whether starved or fed?...
Gone are the horses,
And my father’s dead.