Verses For Horses

A Paean to a famous Race Horse

Irish eyes were born to sparkle

Having bred that champion Arkle,

Crowned the fastest steeplechaser

Not a rival matched this racer.

Lauded as a money-spinner,

Thrice the Cheltenham Gold Cup winner,

Fast and furious, all enthralling,

Never did he look like falling.

Winning for his punters riches,

Soaring fences, jumping ditches,

Hailed as poetry in motion,

Arkle earned deserved devotion.

Leaping higher, running faster,

Kempton Park would spell disaster,

Injured, bound for cropping clover,

Arkle’s glory days were over.