We hear someone speaking in the poem, a continuous speech in four stanzas, four long breaths. A child is comforting a small horse that is not to be sold to war.
The poem has its invisible beginning, the cry. But horses don't cry. It is the mumbling and pleading and speaking voice that emerges from the cry, from its own wordlessness. It is the comforter who is comforted. Comforted by the poem itself, by its creation and its participation in the world, by the child becoming an adult. On its way, its flight from the tranquil groves to the island groves - the point where the movement of the poem began: "we will stay here", in Ventlinge village on the island of Öland.

There is bread and sugar, food for a small horse.
And the decision, that the horse should not be transported in cramped holds to the slaughterhouses on the European continent's mainland.
The world is a place of death - and of care. Occasionally it can be paradisiacally green.