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Slave whose service seems ordained:
his back just fits the shape of saddles,
his mouth molded to fit a bit, height
enough to serve as watchtower for a cowboy.

Strength enough to drag a plough
or prance before a two-wheeled cart,
or, teamed with others, haul a heavy load
of stones or logs or hay or ice.

Bred to massive size, war-horse
carried added weight of armored warrior,
served no other use until circus
riders vaulted on his ample back.

No longer now a farmer's friend,
but can a motor car take you drowsing
unguided by a rein? Bucephalus could.

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