Horse
. H O R S E .
Dirt and dust filled the air
High pitched neighing in our ears
Stomping with hooves on fire
The race it would soon transpire
Some held back timid and afraid
Others took their place
And in their place they stayed
Eyes wild with a fiery cinder pop
made so by the jockey’s
Incessant clapping with
an indignant rider’s crop
Yet one stood still
No prodding or beating
To keep his place
No more than it’s own
Champion will to race
At the sound of the pistol
Bodies en mass they
All took off
No doubt lingered at the starting gate
Who the winner today would be
To finish first this course
It was the stallion glistening
and standing proud
It was the stallion the crowd
Only knew as Horse
When Synapses Go Bad 