Alternative

The horses are irregularly neighing, They’re fallen out by tired saddles, Their wings tore off And run like sinners. The next day, in the morning, Were growing trees instead of wings, And the veins were quietly laughing, While losing their way among the teeth. Yet, the horses don’t worry ‘Cause angels died a night before, And doctor said “Instead of stumps I’ll make A transplant of wings of lunatics”.