Riding over their dead, the troop still charged ahead;
Every horse and man obeyed though the earth was turning red.
They knew no reason why, for that hill they were sent to die;
Yet through the storm of hate, “charge!” was the only cry.
Cast violently aground, as hooves thrashed all around;
He didn’t know, nor did he care, who won that worthless mound.
In what was left of thought, he cared not why they’d fought.
He only wondered to what end his only friend was brought.
Born the unwanted spore of the camp’s meanest whore,
he never dreamt that his death might bring him more.
As early as he was able, he had cleaned the troop’s old stable
And there he found his only love, a gentle soul named Sable.
With the war growing by the day, he knew the only way
to stay with her would be to sign up straight away.
It had caused no few to stare, and their opinion to freely share,
that when his choice had come, he had picked the only mare.
As the battle moved away, he peered from where he lay;
Searching for his single friend in the refuse of the fray.
He had finally come to know, in the dust and in the snow
That she was the only one that would ever love him so.
He had not really known; how dark his eyes had grown;
Till a swishing lip, upon his hip, brought forth a joyful moan.
He saw her standing there, her nostrils still aflare;
That she had survived their trial, was his single care.
Then a last missile from the crest, bested all the rest;
And with a sickening thud, pierced her noble chest.
But as she crumpled down, to join him on the ground;
They both knew that they two, were forever bound.
