Poetry Challenge

Prompt # 18 was to write a poem with an interaction of some sort. So maybe my choice is a touch macabre but in the woods behind my mother's house, a hillside where they can't take a tractor, a horse is returning to the earth that nourished her. Pray the wind direction doesn't change.

Ol' Nell

She lay down one last time,
lowered her head,
submitted to cruel fate.

In no time the fly had arrived,
deposited eggs,
moved on.

Rain washed over her brown coat;
moving air toweled her off.
Larvae tunneled.

She lies there, passive.
The black birds circle.
She does not move.

They come closer.
The bravest lands
and begins his feast.

All her life she has given,
unselfish, gentle.
In death she gives yet again.