THE VANISHING HORSE
Once we were top in the shows. Prancing around on our toes, Useful to man as a hack — Proud to be mounting our bach; Pulling a plough or a carriage, Taking a bride to her marriage; Cavalry once was our pride, Each with a sword at his side. Now all that glory has vanished, Almost from earth are we banished. Save from the turf as a racer Or as a polo-ball chaser, Or ceremonial stunts. These don’t condone the affronts Dealt to our greatness of yore— Gone to return never more. To the machine we must yield As we are forced from the field; Roads we may travel no longer; Cars in their h.p. are stronger; Mechanisations galore Into the array they pour. Soon in museums we’ll be, Visitors anxious to see. —C.W., in the “S.A. Farmers’ Weekly”
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/CROMARG19390703.2.42
Bibliographic details
Cromwell Argus, Volume LXX, Issue 3627, 3 July 1939, Page 7
Word Count
141THE VANISHING HORSE Cromwell Argus, Volume LXX, Issue 3627, 3 July 1939, Page 7
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