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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Comments about this poem (Painted Horses by R. K. Hart )
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