She was a pretty, nicely mannered mare, <br />The children's pet, the master's pride and care, <br />Until a man in khaki came one day, <br />Looked at her teeth, and hurried her away. <br /> <br />With other horses packed into a train <br />She hungered for her master's voice in vain; <br />And later, led 'twixt planks that scare and slip, <br />They slung her, terrified, on board a ship. <br /> <br />Next came, where thumps and throbbing filled the air, <br />Her first experience of mal de mare; <br />And when that oscillating trip was done <br />They hitched her up in traces to a gun. <br /> <br />She worked and pulled and sweated with the best; <br />A stranger now her glossy coat caressed <br />Till flashing thunderstorms came bursting round <br />And spitting leaden hail bestrewed the ground. <br /> <br />With quivering limbs, and silky ears laid back, <br />She feels a shock succeed a sharper crack, <br />And, whinnying her pitiful surprise, <br />Staggers and falls, and tries in vain to rise. <br /> <br />Alone, forsaken, on a foreign field <br />What moral does this little record yield ? <br />Who tends the wounded horses in the war ? <br />Well that is what the Blue Cross League is for.<br /><br />Jessie Pope<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-humble-appeal/
