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
of everlasting fame.