Horses
I strode in, nose in the air, lofty and proud,
Through the grand doors of the horses arena.
Standing beside the rusted rail, assessing the parade
For the eyes of a hardened ballerina.
The show pony on the track, the performer of fast,
The chase from the back, or lead from the front.
Then I saw deep, deep into the stallion, he said he would win,
So on him I placed my first punt.
Last! ! Well that horse was a liar, so young and so green,
His eyes told a dream that he had.
The next parade was now on, the filly’s eyes shone to me,
She was an athletic sprinting Olympiad.
With hands full of urgent, I hastily fired the money from my pocket,
All on horse named Jitterbug.
She came in only seven lengths from the front, yep I know,
I’m the hopeless tragic horse racing mug.
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