*
When ravens in battle torment’s torn flesh fight…
Morvran, my horse, firm-hoofed in stance
Is indisposed to flight.
*
Splendid my saddle and bright, never sore
Polished my crown, blameless, pure.
*
When ravens over battle-field scream for strife…
Dormath, my hound, noses the green-floor
His red gaze to ground.
*
Escort am I for the grave east to west
North to south, alive am I, safe in death…
France & Vincent 
No bit has Morvran, for that would be
For horse so willing, indignity!
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This is beautiful. I had to read it twice though to appreciate it properly.
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Well, it is a riddle… 😉
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Very interesting poem, Sue, especially the last line.
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This is one of Stuart’s 🙂
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