A separate breed, these horses standing,
saddled and dressed in glinting tapestries
for centuries, bred for the parade of kings
who rule the world collectively, who feed
humanity, efficiently like cattle in pens –
who make war scientifically as lasting
diversions for young battle cries
amid the smoke and thunder.
And we admire them – this horseflesh.
Imagine the feel of such power
and grace to glance upon ground
you know intimately. No forty acres
to farm with an army mule, but space
between silhouettes of ranges, the far
purple horizons that draw all envy
from souls a horseback, grinning dawn
and dusk at an ever-changing sky.
A special breed not everyone can ride.