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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2237650-Churchill
by Norman
Rated: E · Poetry · Animal · #2237650
He wears a bowler hat
There’s so much I can tell you;
I don’t know where to start.
Perhaps at the beginning,
with the horse before the cart.

The horse’s name is Churchill.
He wears a bowler hat.
He is a handsome equine.
You have to give him that.

But even though he’s British
you can’t tell from his neigh,
‘cause horses don’t have accents,
no matter what they say.

His day starts early morning.
He wakes up at first light.
Already he feels weary.
He stood all through the night.

He has to do some stretching,
take a little walk around.
His hooves make clip-clop noises,
a pleasant kind of sound.

He stops to have some breakfast,
the same thing every day.
You’d think he’d like some porridge
instead of eating hay.

And then he must get ready
to pull that heavy cart.
The harness is strapped on him.
That’s not his favorite part.

But Churchill waits in silence.
He stands still in one place.
The handler whispers to him,
strokes his nose and rubs his face.

The horse knows what his job is.
He’s done this for so long.
This life is what he’s trained for.
He knows where he belongs.

But somewhere deep inside him,
he dreams of what could be.
He longs for open meadows;
he wishes to run free.

I had so much to tell you,
I never got to say.
Then somehow I got sidetracked.
It just turned out that way.

But now you know of Churchill,
the horse that pulls the cart.
A horse you can admire.
A horse to steal you heart.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2237650-Churchill