Barrel Racing

The big red horse

Walks up to the gate,

A spring in her step,

Blaze bright on her face.


As they wait for the cue,

Her muscles tense up.

She stares through the gate

To the barrels set up.


She spurs the horse forward,

And like a bullet from a gun,

They shoot into the arena

To barrel number one.


For the girl, the world stops

And nothing else matters,

Except for her and her horse,

Who she urges to go faster.


They zip through the pattern,

Hearts beating together,

And in those short 18 seconds,

She’s light as a feather.


Her spirit soars free

Like a bird from a cage,

As they race along

At a sharp, speedy pace.


Her troubles and fears

Are lost to the wind

As they turn the third barrel

And race home again.


Time seems to stand still

As she crosses the line

And slows the horse down

As they call out the time.


She smiles at the number,

But the light in her eyes

Says it’s not just about the race,

It’s also about the ride.

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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