There’s a quiet country girl who works at the stud .
She’s gifted with a horse sense, it’s there in her blood .
It sticks to her and it’s soft going through the mud ,
For there’s more to hooves than shoes that race with a thud .

When she watches she’s got the eyes of a hawk .
When she listens she can hear the horses talk .
From the lush Irish fields from Kildare to Dundalk ,
There’s many a whisper that goes out for a walk .

Some horses frighten easy like babes in the woods .
So she keeps wolves at bay with her red riding hoods .
She’s a friend who must contend with all of their moods .
It’s her own horse business and she’s got the goods .

From gripping a tight rein there to fixing a fence ,
There’s no one like her that can cut down an expense .
So lift up your glasses all you ladies and gents .
And salute the fine girl with the gift of horse sense .



By Paul McCann