THE FINAL MILE 



Mighty Monarchs of the Equine Race, 



Just when will come the zenith of your flight? 

 What voice will guide your flying feet apace, 



And prompt you in your crowning trial aright? 

 What deft and clever wizard of the reins 



Will urge you onward with uncanny hand? 

 What blood will course within your royal veins, 



And who will view your triumphs from the stand? 

 What of the track and where the test? 



When will you reach the dizzy heights sublime? 

 What starting judge will find you at your best, 



And where will stop the second hand of time? 



This much I know, your freedom's near 



From toil and hardship that has long been yours. 

 And to supplant them there will soon appear 



The rare devotion that so long endures. 

 And you, divorced from baser parts. 



From war, and strife, and greed and pelf, 

 Will be enshrined within the hearts 



That love you for yourself. 

 And when that roseate dav shall fall 



And all is ready for the final mile, 



1 know the Great Presiding Judge of all 



Will look down from those pearly gates and smile. 



— Walter Palmer. 



