My “Salted” Steed
Oh! give me back my “salted” steed,
They said, he would not die,
They said of stable I’d no need,
But told a dreadful lie.
I let him out one moonlight night—
Upon the grass he fed—
And in the morning, cruel sight!
My salted steed was DEAD.
I bought him with a good “Bewijs,”
And thought to get my geld—
So wrote a letter in a trice,
And sent it through the veld;
But when the man who sold him came
And opened his inside—
He said the “paapjes” were to blame,
And that was how he died!
I’ve had a dozen steeds or more,
Since that eventful day;
But no more “salted” ones, be sure—
That sort of thing don’t pay,
For if a charger’s worth a sou,
He’s worth his feed, I swear:
And should he live, I laugh, don’t you?
And should he die, don’t care.
A. Brodrick.
Transvaal.