The most difficult contest prompt ever. Good God.
Fine tussled forelock hides unbridled pain from stifle-lameness acknowledged too late, withering lesser those few that remain watching as Stormcloud takes one final gait. Soft drizzled rain-drops accompany booms heard where each hoof tramples dirt into dust. Mist escaped muzzle while ignorance looms, glistens sheen gaskins long aching to bust. Once thought sickle-hock due to fetlocks swelled above coronets seen infected ill, was quick dismissed by an owner compelled to squeeze one dollar more from Stormcloud’s till; Then came three races, one after the next, which saw champion-spirit’s finest display; Torturing sandscapes while weary croup flexed, determined as anguished frogs made ovals pay. He gave all he had and had no remorse, For ended trots brought by one greedy soul – Stormcloud indeed was a hall-of-fame horse, erased when friendship went out at the poll. 10/2/2016
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