This tale is the story of a farmer:
Harvested the truth of blood, sweat and toil.
With him his wife a loving gardener,
She asks, 'what left of the harvest to boil?'
The saddened farmer looks down at the dirt,
With little of no words to tell - his horse.
Eager to pull out a shotgun all hurt,
He aims at his lame prize with all his force.
Little does he know a dark deepened truth,
His horse to run pastures of further roots.
Forsooth, fired the missed shot all so forsooth,
Ran the farmer on fresh land unlaced boots.
What does one know of his little light horse,
His sole dark prize to truly run its course?
Seven Seals of October - Seal IV - The clever beast with a benign neigh...