Power of Wills

With his fiery head held high
the grandson of the great Seattle Slew
runs like he never could,
but was destined to.
No amount of seesawing
or emergency rein
from his puny hitch hiker
is going to hinder his escape
from the dreaded shadow at the corner.

His brown eyes are a wild and determined
as of those of his gray-eyed partner.
Both duel it out down the stretch,
yet the winner will not be strongest in muscle,
which has an obvious 1000lb winner;
but through the power of wills.

She knew
that his 16 hand high frame
and mile long legs
were all the symbols
of the thing they all thought she couldn't handle.
He was the beast that would never amount to anything.
But he was the answer to her prayers.

Moments prior to stuffing her unruly braid
into the sooty helmet
and donning her two left gloves,
they girl ran her quivering fingers down the beast's long, broad face
and searched in those same wild brown eyes,
for something to trust.
She simply whispered in his fuzzy ear
Please be good.





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bookmouse said...
Apr. 4, 2013 at 6:47 pm
I like how the last line, "please be good," contrasts with the rest of the poem.
 
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