The 5.15 at Aintree

Reflected in that equine eye I see

Something only peace conveys to me.

Where swallows skim and buttercups prevail,

And gads are drifted by a swishing tail.

Where larks ascend then fall to meadows green

In this lush place where God’s own hand has been.

I gently stroke that twitching chestnut skin,

And palm a sugared treat to velvet lips.

Sit by and hear the sweet grass nibbled in

And by the dew pond where she softly sips.

This is not the closing of her days,

It is the calm before the storm of fate.

For man’s contempt and foibled ways

Are due as dawning of his plot awaits.

David Otter

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