Ernestine Northover

Veteran Poet - 1,437 Points (25th March 1943)

The Races - Poem by Ernestine Northover

The turf flies,
The fillies run,
My bet applies,
I did it for fun,
The thunderous sound,
They passed so fast,
The rumbling ground,
Is still at last,
The silence has come,
My ears adjust,
The voices hum,
My throat is trussed,
Did ours come first? ,
I hope she did,
Gosh, such a thirst,
Need to be rid,
How about a whisky.
Well done my pet,
She's a little frisky,
Now pet, don't fret,
There's the cup there
along with the rest,
Ah, here's the Mayor
With his chain on his chest.
The jockey's been weighed,
Our 'pride' is led,
The crowds they fade,
Slowly we tread,
The homeward way.
The racing's over,
A splendid day,
Where's the landrover,
Horsebox too,
Then lets retire
Join the queue,
Before I expire.
She'll win again
That's for sure,
Oh, here comes the rain
What a bore.
But still we won,
That's really good.
That's right, my son,
I knew she would.


Comments about The Races by Ernestine Northover

  • (10/19/2006 9:27:00 AM)


    Ernestine I felt as if I was on that horse running round Tatnerham Corner at the Derby, Wow what a poem just brilliant cheers Sylvie (Report) Reply

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  • (4/5/2006 2:56:00 PM)


    Another winner comes in first at the post, glad we backed you and no money exchanged.Love Duncan (Report) Reply

  • (8/30/2005 11:28:00 PM)


    Well executed and formatted! Good message! (Report) Reply

Read all 3 comments »



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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Poem Edited: Thursday, May 20, 2010


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