A Lark lost in song
Soft whispers dance along.
And this is where the horses belong.

Crowds cheering.
Friend and foe appearing.
A loss fearing.

Racing towards the finish line.
Big Red could have taken his time.
But he looked so fine.

Lengths and strides ahead.
No one could have raced in his stead.
And leave the rest feeling dread.

No gap to close, he’s long gone.
The rest were just a pawn.
As he passes the finish line with a yawn.

A champion of all.
His feat not small.
And the rest is for history to recall.

Copyright Corbie Sinclair 2011

My latest contribution to One Shot Wednesday. Come join us starting every Tuesday at 5pm EST at a place where poets play all day :):

This poem is dedicated to the great race horse Secretariat.