The Final Furlong
The stage is set in the grassy bowl of hope.
The benign face of Cleeve Hill smiles down from afar,
while we wait with currency expectant promise,
as horses and jockeys canter away to the start.
A sense of calm descends upon the crowd ; for bets have been laid
and we are all potential winners , at this birth of the contest.
We are ready.
A guinness roar erupts as a trilby clad midwife sets the hoofs in motion .
Never have colours seemed so important ,
as we watch the fences galloping up to upset our stride
and bring life's misfortune .
Dare we watch , this flash of horse and human , interlocked in purpose ,
forward against the fates,reaching that final hurdle
in an epic uphill journey to the lollypop buoy.
The end is in sight.
A strain of Dylan , comes to mind:
" There's no success like failure and failure is no success at all "
For defeat is but a computational error and victory
a momentary alignment of the wallet's resources.
Plenty of time to reach the final furlong.