Grey is your coat,
Smooth and sleek
Paying high on the tote.
We’re on the punt,
We’ve been down all night,
But race eight is here
There goes the red light!
Roaring out of the pink box
You’re straight in the hunt.
That bloody favourite
Has snuck in front.
But not for long,
For you’re closing in fast.
So don’t stop now
Nelly, keep racing past!
Mere seconds remaining,
There’s just the straight to run.
Please dearest Nelly,
We need this one!
Oh Nelly you’ve won it:
The hounds’ war of all wars.
You carried us to heaven
Like an angel with paws.
In our darkest hour,
You sent us fair into the black
So dearest Nelly,
You’re our queen of the track!
Jack Growden's Other Poems
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
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