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Harry Finnegan loved his horse,
Not in the carnal sense of course,
Just as a valued animal friend
Loyal and faithful to the end.
You’d see them every day up town
On Harry’s milk and yoghurt round
Bringing foods of taste and class
To places others dare not pass.
There wasn’t a place – high or low
That Harry and horse would not go.
Harry didn’t know the truth of course, 
His nag was a police undercover horse,
Digi cameras in each front hoof
And in his mane to film the roof,
A mobile phone to fit beneath 
Both of his two large front teeth,
A special code of whinnies and neighs
To direct the force all the way 
To the scene of a spotted crime
Helping them arrive in time.
Local villains trembled in despair 
Wondering how the police got there.
Watch this space some other night
More revelations if the time is right
But nobody twigged how crime went down
On Harry Finnegan’s Yoghurt round.
And Harry Finnegan loved his horse
But not in the carnal sense of course.

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