Epitaph for a centaur

To say that he was unhappy is either to say too much
or too little: depending on who's the audience.
Still, the smell he'd give off was a bit too odious,
and his canter was also quite hard to match.
Не said, They meant just a monument, but something went astray:
the womb? the assembly line? the economy?
Or else, the war never happened, they befriended the enemy,
and he was left as it is, presumably to portray
Intransigence, Incompatibility -- that sort of thing which proves
not so much one's uniqueness or virtue, but probability.
For years, resembling a cloud, he wandered in olive groves,
marveling at one-leggedness, the mother of immobility.
Learned to lie to himself, and turned it into an art
for want of a better company, also to check his sanity.
And he died fairly young -- because his animal part
turned out to be less durable than his humanity.