Furious Trotters


Our Poem

Knee bent high with hobbled pares,
Power and speed strain the traces.
Each sulkie vies to take the lead,
Danger lurks, no time to heed.
But if wheels touch ......
That's why a steady hand means so much
Foaming lather, pointing toes,
By a hair's breadth, the winning nose.

Verse by Mary Lascelles

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