Morning

The cool mist air

Covers the acres of fields.

The sun peeps through

The dark sleeping trees.

The track seems still

Silent and misty

No one is out.

Far in the distance

You see

A galloping thoroughbred

Speeding with a tiny rider

Sitting on his strong back.

His muscles flash with every stride

His elegant legs grabbing the ground

Kicking the morning dew up into the air

But all that is left behind

Are small little hoof prints of old.

No such beauty can be attained.

Without seeing a magnificent creature

Giving his heart to the sport

During a misty morning.