The Horses

"Thus far 80,000 horses have been shipped from the United States to the European

AT was our share in the sinning,

That we must share the doom?

Sweet was our life's

In the spicy meadow-bloom,

With children's hands to pet

And kindly tones to call.

To-day the red spurs fret

Against the bayonet wall.

What had we done, our masters,

That you sold us into hell?

Our terrors and

Have filled your pockets well.

You feast on our starvation;

Your laughter is our groan.

Have horses then no nation,

No country of their own?

What are we, we your horses,

So loyal where we serve,

Fashioned of noble

All sensitive with nerve?

Torn, agonized, we

On the blood-bemired sod;

And still the shiploads follow.

Have horses then no God?