Going into the barrier,
the horses are antsy
for the gallop,
sense the difference in this day
Their noses align,
jockeys poised
“And they’re off”
Thoroughbreds careen
down the track
side swipe to the left
hooves thunder
The crowd winds up,
ticking with expectation
foams slips down flanks
as the distance sorts the rank out
The final straight,
the lure of winning presses,
enduring strength tested,
their spirits gallop
The finishing line winds them in
a winner, place getters
the nearly, the stragglers,
the broken down
Even when spent,
these equines
hold heads high
canter, trot and strut
Such haughty stance,
for their grandeur is plain,
know their glory,
their exaltation
Moira Neagle's Word Addiction 