For Eight Belles
You heard the crowd sing "weep no more.."
As you were led out to the green,
Past columned stands, white and pristine,
Into a narrow corridor.
The gate was freed and off you tore--
Your hot hooves galloped in the gleen;
Your muscles moved your gray coat's sheen.
When suddenly, amidst the roar
From wide-brimmed hats, cocked from juleps;
You, head bowed and back legs bent--
A cool breeze swayed the tall, red tulips--
Fell victim to establishment.