Beneath the noon sun, we display for the stands,
The reins of my Caesar held tight in my hands.
He’s up in his age, and this racing is new,
But we’re going to try it, just something to do.
We get up to the line, his muscles are tense,
I hope that I haven’t lost all my good sense.
The man drops his hat, we’re off like a shot,
My Caesar is fast, my Caesar is hot.
Around the first corner, we hold second place,
Caesar is reaching, he knows it’s a race.
Out on the straight, the stands on our right,
I bet us two duffers present quite a sight.
Caesar's a late teen and I’m fifty five,
As long as we can, we’re staying alive.
We’ll play all the games, as long as we’re able,
Go home at night and rest up in the stable.
Now we’re on the home stretch, still holding in third,
But a young horse comes up on our right like a bird.
She’s floating beside us, young, fast, full of strength,
We’re surpassed at the finish by half a horse length.
We’re not in the money but our heads are still high,
We ran a good race, we made a good try.
Seventeen year old Arab on a quarter horse track,
Some good, blooded horses, saw only our back!
©Daryl W. Frank January 1, 2001
Summer 1998, Jefferson County Fairgrounds, Jefferson Wisconsin. Annual Quarter Mile Race. Open to all comers. Decent, money added purse. We were there!