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The Draft Horse by Robert Frost



With a lantern that wouldn’t burn
In too frail a buggy we drove
Behind too heavy a horse
Through a pitch-dark limitless grove.

And a man came out of the trees
And took our horse by the head
And reaching back to his ribs
Deliberately stabbed him dead.

The ponderous beast went down
With a crack of a broken shaft.
And the night drew through the trees
In one long invidious draft.

The most unquestioning pair
That ever accepted fate
And the least disposed to ascribe
Any more than we had to to hate,

We assumed that the man himself
Or someone he had to obey
Wanted us to get down
And walk the rest of the way.

—Robert Frost

Comments on this entry are closed.

  • Aggie December 27, 2021, 1:28 PM

    Frost certainly had his dark, fatalistic moments didn’t he.

  • Dirk December 27, 2021, 1:54 PM

    The Draft Horse is the equivalent of the working man, born and breed to work, work some more, all without complaint, without valid input.