C o r t e g e...
Cobblestone has propensity
to be snared-up by rusted horseshoes.
You can hear the pain of the clydesdale
by the sharp, scraping sound
from each hoof as it slaps at the stone
bending awkwardly at the knee,
with each stride.
Yet no one really notices, that is-
except for the other horse,
juxtapositioned and suffering
quite equally with its partner.
Such goes the proverbial caisson
rolling with the likes of
Garfield, Coolidge and Hayes,
of presidential privlege,
passing their homegrounds
for the very last time,
as tradition and respect demanded,
before the New Deal, FDR...
and the age of smooth blacktop
when horses could not manage
the bumps, breaks and hills
that forced those awkward knee-bends,
to forge in painful stride
when called upon...to lead a cortege.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Added by Poetry Lover
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