Viejo Amanceer ("Ol' Sunup") Poem by Bill O'Brien

He was Sunup to all who him
And when given his fill of mash
He'd run with his soul like the wind
In the race called the 100-yard dash. Not many could find a first place
On the dusty road called a track
'Cause Sunup had that running grace
That put him in front of the pack. Life was but a game to him
For which he had a knack
He liked to have his belly scratched
And sometimes farther back. How does one say goodbye
To a friend of so many years?
To think that this friend could die
Would cost too many tears. "Viejo" I thought as I loosened his cinch
And pulled off the old brown saddle,
He is just as tall by every inch--
"My God, what a hell of a battle"-- Years have passed; my bones are tired
And my hair has turned to gray.
But just as a priest remembers his prayers
I'll remember Sunup - today.