A beast of speed and grace,
in a great giant race
A race against you,
in the morning dew,
A coat of glistening sweat,
Silver, shiney and wet,
The muscles rippling underneath,
The weapon still in its sheath,
Suddenly he stops and veers,
He is so close, so near,
He rears up, then backs down,
He snorts and spins, round and round,
He paws the ground and snorts again.
It seems like here he’s been.
He trots off, without a sound,
Littered hoof prints on the ground.