A Distempered Horse

There once was a skinny horse name George. Poor ole soul lived alone in a gorge. Three fit sheep came his way. They were traded that day. Matted, bony, his belly engorged. Onward He forged, living on the brink. I’ll save him, one young maiden did think. Head hung; life was his game. George, his infamous name. She prayed; from his needs, she did not shrink. George would not drink; lips were cracked and dry. She asked God, “Please don’t let him die.” Water was his kismet. Sweet feed filled hope’s bucket. She cut out mats; whisked away each fly. Six months later, George was still alive. Lips were moist; he ate; began to thrive. With some flesh on his bones, And relieved of his groans, The day of her moving would arrive. The time came when George had to be sold. Half Arabian, not very old Registration papers. The old trader’s capers, You promised them, the young girl cajoled. How could he live; does he have luster? Papers lost; no death by distemper. Confessions on that day, The girl went away. Compassion to the horse did whisper. New owners bought him, his health still poor. His price and potential was the big lure. They quickly changed his name. Greener pastures, the game. Star’s beauty became his life’s encore. © June 7, 2011 Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: A Horse Story Sponsored by: Carol Brown (Based on a true story)