And They Are Off

And they are off Only a whiskers breadth parted they As six spun round the corner over lands mud gray, And sounds came loud from thundering hoofs Louder then the heart in my chest; Then my eyes caught sight of the muscled beast For an instant then ‘twas gone, While the announcer called to the screaming crowd “Whispering Saint leads round the opening bend” Dismal and cold is the mystery of our land And bleak the passage of the fall, But no fault be held when the caller tells That lost were the horses in this fog, Now quiet it seemed around the track No word of mouth, nor sound of tread, Until came a crackle and the announcers voice Saying that Whispering Saint was still ahead No wall to hold our muffled screams When six horses broke through the mist, But with nostrils wide and mouths agape There pace was as the wind; Never the like that I had seen When clutched tightly to my chest, Was a numbered slip on which was writ Whispering Saint to win and place Over lands mud gray there path was sure Round the corner to the final stretch, But luck be just as destiny held In a night so dark and cold; “They are neck to neck,” the announcer called “Please retain all the tickets you hold,” I hoped to god but the devil said That Whispering Saint had only shown By M. Norton marklnorton@shaw.ca