He was the first to climb inside, <br />a trap door just beneath the tail, <br />only skinny warriors apply, <br />though all, even the fat ones <br />were in awe over the very thought, <br />the idea which had been hatched <br />during morning tea; what if, <br />someone had uttered, what if <br />they could go in sight unseen, <br />armed, of course and dangerous? <br /> <br />The bailiff had, a cautious man, <br />said no one checks the mouth, <br />a gift horse is just that, but hey, <br />some morons would be drawn <br />to where the sun don't shine, <br />it is the odour of fresh dung <br />that whets their appetite, like <br />hogs and beetles they go wild <br />so what will be, he asked them <br />what, my learned friends, will be? <br /> <br />So many have, in much more <br />modern times, attempted <br />a revival of the symbol yet, <br />no one has ever built and sent <br />into the camp of morons and the like <br />a Trojan filled with authenticity.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-trojan-horse/
