As the sun slants over the paddock weathered in morning mist,
Stardust pronounces a humble colt riding through an emerald field.
A red sky welcomes an ethereal road,
As Rich Strike bolts silently into nirvana.
Twenty horses, twenty riders,
Twenty dreams kindled with arduous drudgery.
The crowds harrow subsides,
Quietness subdues,
The bell brakes,
and dreams ensue.
Flames rip through the stable,
‘twenty-three skidoo' at Mercury Equine farms,
Leaving reed tombstones,
To hold up heads for those that perished.
Yet Pegasus rises!
Against all odds,
As the lord gives its toughest battles to his strongest warriors,
Valiantly schooled with a turn of foot.
Mint juleps at hand,
colts dash the gate,
Heartbeats haste,
the aroma of Burgoo fumes.
Welcome to the ‘Run of the roses',
Where dreams are born in old Louisville.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem