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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=532736" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Broncho That Would Not Be Broken</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=532736" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A little colt — broncho, loaned to the farm<br>To be broken in time without fury or harm,<br>Yet black crows flew past you, shouting alarm,<br>Calling "Beware," with lugubrious singing...<br>The butterflies there in the bush were romancing,<br>The smell of the grass caught your soul in a trance,<br>So why be a-fearing the spurs and the traces,<br>O broncho that would not be broken of dancing?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=532736" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">You were born with the pride of the lords great and olden<br>Who danced, through the ages, in corridors golden.<br>In all the wide farm-place the person most human.<br>You spoke out so plainly with squealing and capering,<br>With whinnying, snorting, contorting and prancing,<br>As you dodged your pursuers, looking askance,<br>With Greek-footed figures, and Parthenon paces,<br>O broncho that would not be broken of dancing.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=532736" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The grasshoppers cheered. "Keep whirling," they said.<br>The insolent sparrows called from the shed<br>"If men will not laugh, make them wish they were dead."<br>But arch were your thoughts, all malice displacing,<br>Though the horse-killers came, with snake-whips advancing.<br>You bantered and cantered away your last chance.<br>And they scourged you, with Hell in their speech and their faces,<br>O broncho that would not be broken of dancing.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=532736" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">"Nobody cares for you," rattled the crows,<br>As you dragged the whole reaper, next day, down the rows.<br>The three mules held back, yet you danced on your toes.<br>You pulled like a racer, and kept the mules chasing.<br>You tangled the harness with bright eyes side-glancing,<br>While the drunk driver bled you — a pole for a lance —<br>And the giant mules bit at you — keeping their places.<br>O broncho that would not be broken of dancing.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=532736" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">In that last afternoon your boyish heart broke.<br>The hot wind came down like a sledge-hammer stroke.<br>The blood-sucking flies to a rare feast awoke.<br>And they searched out your wounds, your death-warrant tracing.<br>And the merciful men, their religion enhancing,<br>Stopped the red reaper, to give you a chance.<br>Then you died on the prairie, and scorned all disgraces,<br>O broncho that would not be broken of dancing.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Vachel+Lindsay">Vachel Lindsay</a></strong></div>

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