Messy bed, torn blanket
Sick person, not quite a man.
Looked at his wife blissfully,
With stretched hands to window pan.

His wife worried to what is it?
With eyes locked at the far tree,
She saw a horse resting by,
The hands can show how its free.

A leaf falls gently on the horse,
The man cries out in deep dismay.
She thought the horse was hurt, of course,
Not knowing much about horses that day.

She looked back at her man,
He mouthed to the horse, "I'm sorry."
One tear at a time fell from his eyes,
In this moment, lost hope in his story.

He couldn't help the horse,
A war raged on in the air.
The horse needed a friend, no remorse,
But a sick man could not be there.

Yet the horse needed rest,
Last rest before the war began.
This time the war felt different,
Without the man, it had no plan.

His wife realized and ran to the tree,
To see the horse one final time.
She prayed while crying softly,
As if the gods heard her chime.

She returned quickly to her dear man,
Running with the cold in the air.
She saw his arms still reaching,
Eyes closed, in solemn prayer.