Wetherby Auction Day

Our Poem

Fear ahd mistrust in his darkened eye,
He khew how to walk, bat held his head high.
Extending his toe, floating on air,
His lad held on, as tight as he dare.

'The auctioneer called, 'now lot number ten
Sire and Dam the very best Gentlemen'.
At that moment he plunged, then gave a buck,
The man in the cloth cap was ready to duck.

But just as quickly he quietened down,
Walked past rows of faces. None wore a frown.
For his beauty was there for all to behold,
His Sires achievements for long had been told.

Almost silence, as now they all admired.
He really was everything a heart desired.
His head so fine a sculptors dream,
For an artist his lines were quite supreme.


He looked so young in the Autumn sun,
But one day for sure how fast he'd run.
But in this moment of time he longed to be,
Back in the meadow with the old oak tree.

The voice droned on, he jogged awhile.
He didn't see a man now smile.
He arched his neck, now worth his weight in gold,
The hammer went down, 'Gentlemen sold.'


Verse by Mary Lascelles

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