Left For Dead

• Megan Thierry, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2013

She looked around her bedroom, to make sure he was still there.
No, no-one had disturbed him, how they left him wasn’t fair.

He was bay, with a white sock, his smell was strong, but sweet.
To think that someone in the world, left him for dead on the street.

She had found him on the lane, he was shivering with the cold.
The rain was streaming off him, the girls tear ducts could not hold.

He was neighing for his mother, but his mother could not hear.
His mother was in a field, and was trembling with fear.

Where is he, she thought while pacing, around and round the gate.
Maybe he is gone forever, but perhaps he’s just late.

Oh I hope he’s had his supper, he is young, and has not learnt.
That the night is full of danger, and full of things that can hurt.

Back at the distant homestead, the girl is giving him a drink.
Her parents have found him, but don’t know what to think.

Now the colt has grown to be tall, the girl has learnt to ride.
The horse under her she saved, to think it could have died.