Cheated by thirst at the rivulet's dry edge,
Pack dogs suffer August. They do not suffer
The she-horse, shielding her keep of a pond,
To go unrivalled. Nor does she yield—to yield
Is to die with O2 still in the lungs.
Their scent affronts propriety and nerve.
Who abides this? The alpha charger snaps
In two at the force of a back-flung foot.
Another two withstood, wracked carcasses,
Less bloody than she when I found her moments after.
She was my father's, till he ran her off
For taking no saddle in trade of grain or trough!
Pack dogs suffer August. They do not suffer
The she-horse, shielding her keep of a pond,
To go unrivalled. Nor does she yield—to yield
Is to die with O2 still in the lungs.
Their scent affronts propriety and nerve.
Who abides this? The alpha charger snaps
In two at the force of a back-flung foot.
Another two withstood, wracked carcasses,
Less bloody than she when I found her moments after.
She was my father's, till he ran her off
For taking no saddle in trade of grain or trough!
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