Blecth

Wild horses are a draggin'
And I'm kicking and screaming.
Tears, pleading, begging, moaning:
And that's just the horses.

There's nothing sadder than a crying horse.

So I stop resisting - externally, at least,
And go along, submissive.

Here I am.
What now?
I don't want to be here.
When will this be over? Ah, finally.
Slip away quietly,
No good-byes, no hugs, just polite smiles and an icy aura saying,
"If you're between me and the door, you'll be flattened."

Going. Gone.
The crying horse is silent
And that silence is worse than sadness.
A beautiful mare, still sleek with sweat,
Waiting in the fresh meadow -
But I like the smelly barn.