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He’s my little dark horse,

pounding hoofs –

pushing--pushing

along the course,

thundering, whirling,

flying legs of steel

that show only the dust

of his hoof and heel.

Then when you came

on the scene,

they were filled with envy, malice

and plenty mean.

But you were true of heart,

were never apart

from your quest to be the best.

And from place to place

and race to race,

you’d win.

Once you’d enter in,

your thundering hoofs

would defeat the great

War Admiral,

and Red Pollard would ride you

into the hallowed halls