He breezed like a dream.

Well schooled in the gate.

He’s fast and he’s strong.

He has a champ’s fate.


When race day arrives

He is fit to debut.

A perfect specimen

From his head to his shoe.


But when they break to start

He drops straight to the rear

And doesn’t bother at all

To even try to get near.


So when the jock dismounts

I ask him why and how?

And he says, “It would seem

He just doesn’t like crowds.”

This is a Black Cloud Stable LLC original poem.  © 2018

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