Winning Post

Our Poem

With a toss of my head and a gleam in my eye,
I sidle for a moment ready to fly.
But the hand on the rein says I must wait,
First starting stalls, the part we all hate.

Jostling, slight panic, I long to break free.
The clashing of metal, I'm ahead with jast three.
But the hand on the rein still holds me in check,
For the winning post far ahead is still just a speck.

The roar of the crowd spars me on,
With the blood of ancestors now long gone,
Ancestors whose names are spoken with pride,
I stretch my neck the bay by my side.

I know the crowd are calling my name,
Each time I try it sounds the same.
Hands and heels set me alight,
As the eye of the bay looks red in my sight.


Barely I let my hooves touch the ground,
Mu heart fills with pride at that glorious sound.
Effortlessly now I make my run,
Like my Sire and Dam I'll be second to none.


Verse by Mary Lascelles

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