The Life Of A War Horse Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The horses I remember as a child were very big working horses,
not nervous like race horses who need a rub down and soft words
before racing. I remember specially a giant tanned coloured horse
left behind after the Nazi occupiers, it was a victim of war.

The Nazi leaders who were fonder of animals than people, just like
the British, had given the horse an animal iron cross, and had its
flanked and neck stroked by Herman Goering no less; but it was
never taken in by this barmy philosophy.

Alas, the horse belonged to a survivor in Holland, it was shipped to
the Middle East ploughing soil that hitherto had been tilled, by grey
donkeys, ploughing shallow sandy soil. Than it happened having been
exposed to so many confusing ideologies the horse bolted and kicked
the farmer to death. There was a court case it was proven the horse
was racially biased and sentenced to become legitimate dog food.