I wonder
How many of those
Who come each year
To see and be seen
In Their finery,
Sipping Their juleps
Beneath Their hats,
I just wonder
How many
Truly appreciate
The beauty,
The grace,
The power,
And the heart
That makes a thoroughbred?
Perhaps They,
By nature of Their hats
And finery,
Believe They, too,
Are thoroughbreds,
Highly bred
And impeccably polished
Superior specimans
Of the human race.
I wonder
If the horses themselves
Are as awed
As we are
By Them,
Or if they're simply
Made happiest
By the appearance
Of the lowly groom
With a carrot?