There once was a queen who was sovereign over a modest but prosperous queendom. On the day her daughter came of age, the Queen took her daughter aside and showed her the source of her prosperity.
In the stables, far from prying eyes, was a broken old horse wearing a worn leather bridle with a rusty iron bit. The horse’s coat was worn thin in places, his mane falling out, his legs trembling from the effort of keeping himself standing.
‘He’s ready for the knackers, my daughter.’ Said the Queen matter-of-factly. ‘And there he shall go in due course.’
‘This is the horse that built the queendom!’ The princess said. ‘Surely he should have some sort of retirement! And a proper funeral.’
‘No, my daughter. You must respect his role; his role is ...
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