The Cremation

The Cremation

There are cruel things done 'neath the Warming Sun
By Trainers who moil for gold.
The dark stall's veils hide secret tales
That would make your blood run cold.
Celebration lights have seen glad sights
But the gladdest they ever did see
Twas that night in the 'Ville we declared our fill
Of horse torture in Tennessee.

Now, here in the heart of Tennessee
Where the Walker blooms and grows
Trainers seek the Sore Lick gait
Though for reasons God only knows.
Perhaps its cold, but the thought of gold
Seems to hold them like a spell,
Though they'd often say, in their arrogant way,
"Don't like it? Then go straight to Hell!"

On a warm Summer night when the lights shine bright
In arenas lying far from a trail,
The horses do toil with leg wrap and oil
And heat that stabs like a nail.
Then the eyes do close, on owner and those
Charged to see that this should not be.
It isn't much fun, you see, to be one of
Of the Walkers from Tennessee.

And on a languid, clear night as I slept tight
In a summer breeze sweet and low,
And the horses were fed, and the stars o'erhead
Were dancing heel and toe,
Comes Dream Walker to me, and "Cap," says he
I'll cash in this night, I guess.
And if I do, I'm asking that you
Won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low I couldn't say no,
And he says with a sort of a moan,
"It's the cursed heat, and it's got me beat
'Till I hurt clean through to the bone.
Yet 'ta'int being dead, its my awful dread
Of the burning bier that pains,
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,
You'll not cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed,
And I swore that I would not fail.
I went to the barn at the streak of dawn
And, God, he looked ghastly pale.
On his side in the hay, he raved all day
Of his Blues that all could see.
And before nightfall, a corpse was all
That was left of Walker from Tennessee.

Now, a promise made is a debt unpaid,
And I live by my own stern code.
In the hours to come, though my mind was numb
In my heart how I cursed my load.
In the cool dawn's light I tried to sight
A way to complete my task best.
To do what is right 'fore the coming of night
And to give my pal's spirit his rest.

The day it was hot and my spirits they got
Down with the load that I bore.
Then a way I did see to set myself free from
This burden that lay by my door.
"'Tis the cool that he seeks, relief from the heat!"
I cried as my vision grew clear.
My path now was neat, as I mounted the seat
Of the Massey that stood very near.

The diesel did roar and pumps they did hum
As the loader rose up from the ground.
Old flatbed and chain, stout truck hooked to same,
I wheeled the tractor around.
Walker was big, but Farm Hands are tough
And soon he was laid on the bed,
Well tied and secure on a float that was sure
Not made for what lay ahead.

As the sun slanted down, I proceeded around to a ramp
That leads down to the lake.
Deep water lay a short distance away
And I knew just what course I should take.
Slowly back down the ramp, 'till Walker gets damp,
Then stop and release the hitch.
Thus trailer will float like a wallowing boat,
Then sink in the deep, deep ditch.

I uttered the prayer of sailors who bear shipmates
To the deep for their rest.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like
To see him not at his best.
The breeze was near cold, but the hot sweat rolled
Down my cheek, and I don't know why,
And 1 waited to hear the sound of the bier
Settle down with a quiet, wet sigh.

I cannot say how long in that day
I wrestled with gristly fear.
But the stars came out, and they danced about
'Ere again I ventured near.
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said,
"I'll just take a peek asea.
I guess he has sunk, and it's time 1 looked",
And I gazed where he might be.

And there Walker sat, looking cool on his raft
As the waters lapped at his side.
He wore a smile you could see a mile,
And he said, "Please don't spoil my ride.
It's fine out here, but I greatly fear
They'll bring me ashore to the dirt.
Since 1 left Ville Shellbee down in Tennessee
It's the first time that I've not hurt!"

There are cruel things done 'neath the Warming Sun
By Trainers who moil for gold.
The dark stall's veils hide secret tales
That would make your blood run cold.
Celebration lights have seen glad sights
But the gladdest they ever did see
Twas that night in the 'Ville we declared our fill
Of horse torture in Tennessee.

WTFlywheel

With apologies to Robert Service.





Bill Kambic
Haras Lucero, Kingston, TN
Mangalarga Marchador: Uma Raça, Uma Paixão

Sorry, wrong newsgroup.

Bill Kambic
Haras Lucero, Kingston, TN
Mangalarga Marchador: Uma Raça, Uma Paixão

Sorry, wrong newsgroup.

....But a helluva lot better than most of the recent postings here.

--
Mike Kanze

"Money doesn't buy you happiness, but it does let you suffer in comfort."

- David H. Jameson, quoting his mother (Wall Street Journal, 8/25/06)


wrote in message ...
Sorry, wrong newsgroup.

Bill Kambic
Haras Lucero, Kingston, TN
Mangalarga Marchador: Uma Raça, Uma Paixão

LOL

"Mike Kanze" wrote in message
. ..
Sorry, wrong newsgroup.

....But a helluva lot better than most of the recent postings here.

--
Mike Kanze

"Money doesn't buy you happiness, but it does let you suffer in comfort."

- David H. Jameson, quoting his mother (Wall Street Journal, 8/25/06)


wrote in message
...
Sorry, wrong newsgroup.

Bill Kambic
Haras Lucero, Kingston, TN
Mangalarga Marchador: Uma Raça, Uma Paixão