Your hooves pound the damp earth,
as you breeze by the timer line.
When you reach the first barrel,
you sink deep into the ground.
Your rippled muscles,
push you towards the second,
making your mark in the dirt.
As you throw up you head, hiding your age,
you turn yet again, never giving up.
You push your old limbs, as you sprint with all of your might.
You are not about to give up yet.
For you are not yet lame.
For you are not weak.
You know you have to finish.
Your courage leaves a hoof print on the hearts of the crowd,
as your nose stretches past the finish line.
You have achieved your goal,
nineteen seconds is your time.
No one would ever believe,
that you are a horse,
that is only twenty- three.