A Humble Appeal

She was a pretty, nicely mannered mare, The children's pet, the master's pride and care, Until a man in khaki came one day, Looked at her teeth, and hurried her away. With other horses packed into a train She hungered for her master's voice in vain; And later, led 'twixt planks that scare and slip, They slung her, terrified, on board a ship. Next came, where thumps and throbbing filled the air, Her first experience of mal de mare; And when that oscillating trip was done They hitched her up in traces to a gun. She worked and pulled and sweated with the best; A stranger now her glossy coat caressed Till flashing thunderstorms came bursting round And spitting leaden hail bestrewed the ground. With quivering limbs, and silky ears laid back, She feels a shock succeed a sharper crack, And, whinnying her pitiful surprise, Staggers and falls, and tries in vain to rise. Alone, forsaken, on a foreign field What moral does this little record yield ? Who tends the wounded horses in the war ? Well that is what the Blue Cross League is for.