A stable stood upon a wayside lane
Daisies grew all on the stony water trough
Sun beams filtered through the dusty haymows
It was lonely out upon the meadow.
Almost I see a wild mane flowing, oh!
A shining coat of glossy molten bronze
Flashing through a million aspen saplings.
Alas! those thund’ring heels flash by no more!
A stall unused; a bridle hung in dust.
How I miss his dear old nick’ring sounds, ah!
Distraught I was when I had heard the news,
My Pegasus is gone for’er, he’s lost!
Cancer’s tumors felled him; now he sleeps beneath the frost.
The Alchemy of Art 