THROUGH THE EYES OF THE OWNERS SON

It was like an execution in the end

But that’s not how you’d have seen it

When they took the final bend

And that’s not how you’d have seen it

When they levelled out for home

With a wall of Stayers charging

With the outcome far from known

And the Senior Steward cowering

At his Jockey, maybe glowering

Wishing he could be alone

Seeking sins to very hastily atone

 

Yet it nearly didn’t happen don’t you see

When the Heaven’s chose to open

Home was not the place to be

When the Heaven’s chose to open

Spence and Morley both looked broken

On the eve of Gold Cup day you won’t believe

That the ground now suited swimmers

Not exclusive firm ground winners

And for all of us, it looked like no reprieve

Now’s the time for him to show us

What he’d hidden up his sleeve

 

Ahead there lay a challenge sure enough

And the time had come for action

No more talk, however tough

And the time had come for action

No excuses, no distractions,

When the race begins, so ends the game of bluff

And if hindsight gives us wisdom, I surmise

That however much you see it

You will always be surprised

By a race containing more than can be told

By a Jockey worth ten times his weight in Gold

 

So the coolest man kept waiting

Whilst the Ascot roar was raging

A directionless crescendo

There was no-one in the know

And yet none of us were dreaming

That the father’s horse was staging

A finale worth the screaming

Amber, Green, then Pat said Go!

It was like an execution on that day

When Celeric and the Veteran

Swooped to have the final say

 

Now retirement sees our Champion in the field

With the glory days behind him

He still seeks his sword and shield

With the glory days behind him

And a Gold Cup crown to bind him

Teaching yearlings that to bow, is so to yield

If this horse can deign to teach one half as good

One who’ll give us half the rush, we won’t pretend

What we get from his apprentice can compare

To the dream that was delivered by our friend

It was like an execution in the end

©Henry Birtles
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