Dark Victory

He was an Arabian, a noble and ancient breed of horse,

Twelve years old, in the prime of his life,

But one wouldn’t know it to look at him.

He was just another pathetic equine,

At an auction along with a dozen or so others.

His coat was a dull black, except for the white scars,

Where an ill-fitting saddle had cut into his flesh.

His ribs and hipbones were clearly visible,

But his eyes held a glimmer of hope.

He had hope that he would receive fair treatment,

Hope for a full sized meal and for kindness.

He had hope for some happy and for shade in the sun,

And for grass, and carrots and love.

His hope was rewarded; He will have a forever home.

He is honest and kind, in spite of ill treatment,

He never makes a wrong move.

His owner a man of seventy-five years,

Is kind and gentle (and always has a carrot in his pocket)

The sale was by the local Boy Scout chapter,

Whose values are quoted above.

I am appalled that the boys associated with these horses,

Were subject to such a poor example and education,

Shame on the leaders responsible for this neglect.