Answer:
Thirty white horses on a red hill, first they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still.
The older they are the less wrinkles they have.
My first is in wield, sever bones and marrow. My second is in blade, forged in cold steel. My third is in arbalest, and also in arrows. My fourth is in power, plunged through a shield. My fifth is in honor, and also in vows My last will put an end to it all.
Halo of water, tongue of wood. Skin of stone, long I've stood. My fingers short reach to the sky. Inside my heart men live and die.
My first keeps time, my second spends time, my whole tells time.
Almost everyone needs it, asks for it, gives it. But almost nobody takes it.