The Race

I sit upon a black beast’s back,
His muscles tight, the rope-reins slack,
Impatiently, he paws the ground,
His heaving breath the only sound

And as his wild eyes glance right,
He witnesses the dawning’s light.
We stand upon a field of grass,
With light, the dewdrops gleam like glass

Now, night’s black with soft pink glints,
Brushed with orange and golden tints.
Spring’s sun swallows the starry sky,
And with the dawn, away we fly

For swifter speed my steed does strain,
As we streak across the open plain.
My urgency he seems to sense,
As his muscles flex and tense.

We are, upon this race’s course,
A sacred match of man and horse.
This endless race we shall complete,
As heart and hooves match pounding beat.