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The chestnut mane of a dignified steed falls fluidly Its two doe eyes wander along the morning horizon's invading sun Tan freckles slide upon its muzzle's gentle slope Two pink parasol lips open wide at the crack of a starting gun— The stride of its slender trunk sways in the rural wind Its hoofs fall gracefully along the long and rickety racetrack Silent cheers from cranberry cheeks whistle in a passing wind Drops of silver satin sweat glisten on its umber back Its pace grows faster at the sight of the finish Strands of light on a barn's floor scatter The gun sounds piercingly as the steed falls backward And lies mangled, immersed in scarlet matter. |