A Feedlot Horse's poem

Thank you to Kim and Deaconess who forwarded this poem on to me. I wanted to share it with all of you...

God’s Minor Angels

It is a long, long way to the feedlot

The path is clear and wide

Paved with pain and betrayal

The sign reads “Compassion denied”

They come from the backyards and barnyards

Grey-muzzled or “sadly outgrown”

Convicted of “green under saddle”

Or bringing too few ribbons home.

They gave of their love and their courage

They sacrificed comfort and pride

To let someone run and soar with the wind

And give little girls one more ride

This last road their courage and honor

Has purchased; the friends they had known

Have sold their dear flesh for a handful of coin

To be butchered alive, and alone

This road of despair has one detour

A respite, of sort, on their way

A muck-filled pen filled with strangers and fear

Foul water, a handful of hay

But here in the darkest of hours

Through heartbreak and tears of despair

A handful of God’s minor angels

Make miracles of wishes and thin air

With eyes full of tears and steely resolve

And knowing there’s no hope at all

They stand on a battlefield of unanswered prayers

Undaunted, and send out the call

To those who will listen to angels

As minor and unknown as these

No swords and no magic to hold back the dark

A small, simple whisper…just…please.

I think that God loves best these angels

Unsung, and unhallowed and plain

Who don’t mind the hay and the muck in their hair

But can’t bear another in pain

How else to explain their successes

While others throw stones and poke fun

As they wallow in filth and in misery

In a futile attempt to save one

And how must they seem to this single,

This voiceless and hopeless small spark

When angels of despair (with straw in their hair)

Led him out of the pain and the dark?

This one—one of hundreds of thousands

A plain unremarkable horse

Instead of a truck bound to Mexico

Is set on a different course

Instead of an ending in terror and blood

A story of kindness in store

He’ll be someone’s treasure, their pride and joy

For God’s minor angels have triumphed once more

by Deborah Wolf