In the shaking of the dew and the rattle of the wind
Between the idle elders the oaks are closing in,
And in the early light I see a shapely form,
It’s an elegant Thoroughbred racing in the dawn.
I hear the hoof beats coming, there’s a pattern like the rain,
I can hear the horses running like a musical refrain,
Beneath the emerald carpet there’s a shimmer of a sound
A rhythmic pulsing breath, from deep underground.
The darkness has been broken, night is in decay,
The blessing sun is climbing up the ladder of the day,
On the downs a world is waking ready for the call,
“We’re pulling out, get ready, mount” to one and all.
They’ve galloped here in winter, in summer, spring and fall,
They’ve galloped through the centuries upon this downland lawn,
The have the rights of kings and queens upon this naked turf,
We their riders, trainers, owners are just a loyal serf.
The mist is curling upwards chased by the sun,
The morning work is over the galloping is done,
The horses are retreating in a story that is told,
Of how the Downs were keepers of a secret centuries old.
In the shaking of the dew and the rattle of the wind
Between the idle elders the oaks are closing in,
and in the early light I see a shapely form,
It’s an elegant Thoroughbred racing in the dawn.
Caroline Baldock © 2017