R. K. Hart
Mother and son enjoyed the painted horses and foals,
As they galloped up and down on golden poles.
Mother thrilled at this beautiful sight of joy,
Almost more than the experience, it gave her little boy.
Son grew older; more money came to his hand,
Her birthday was near, his eye said buy a painted fan.
His heart said buy something else altogether,
A music box with prancing horses, light as a feather.
Mother so enjoyed her young man's hand painted gift,
Until a drunken husband's jealousy became miffed.
The darkest of dark fury's came over the man,
As the man took the little horses in hand.
With greatest power little horses smashed into the wall,
If he had a thought, it was to get his son's gift and maul.
Immediately the deed was complete,
His drunken tears fell like sleet.
His remorseful thoughts were as ears in a field of wheat,
Or dreams of men and their lives left incomplete.
Father soon after repaired the little horses with great care,
With the horses in place music played so fair.
The horses began their joyful prance,
The family held each other in a joyful dance.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Painted Horses by R. K. Hart )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
(12 May 1828 – 9 April 1882)
Robert Louis Stevenson
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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