Equine Cry

Cry, but not for the horses like Barbaro and Eight Belles,

Nor for Ruffian, George Washington or Teuflesberg,

For they in their glory were at the top of their game,

Their lives were lived with all their needs met, the best of the best.

Cry though for those not so lucky, those on the lower level tracks,

That adorn the byways and county fairs of Your Town, USA.

The hooves that thunder on and on eking out a meager living,

For horse-poor owners, in debt trainers and the catch-any-ride jockeys.

And cry for those who are sold and re-sold,

Who are never all that special to anyone.

And weep for those who run though sore,

And run and run some more.

Then cry again for those so unfortunate,

Who have rarely had benefit of a kind hand,

Whose training and work, at best, is harsh,

And for those whose treatment is less than fair.

For I have seen much in my life with these creatures,

I have cried many tears of my own,

As I rescued hundreds whose nobility lay deep within,

Underneath the often blatant cruelty of man.

But the tears that choke me, leave me unable to speak,

Are those that show the beauty, grace and incredible heart,

Of a well bred horse doing the job he was bred and raised to do,

With courage, and benevolence uncommon to man.