Brutus Poem by Timmy Curran

Loyal as the sweetest friend
my horse, my protector
The best of the lot
only fleas have a
taste for your blood
The nectar for beggars,
the crowd slowly gathers
Under that tree, where I used to see
you running for days
The killing field brought
to the greenest backyard
Until under your hair,
once so beautiful and thick
there is only skin,
that you lick then nip
But a boy, but he was but mine
A crying mans whisper
told me he heard you passing by
The venture was true, but it
was only for you, and I was
not left your bones, to grive
under your tree back home