This horse I thought I’d ride
Is dead. Why try to flog it?
Might as well get off the thing.
Don’t think to drag it
To the winning post.
What winning post? There isn’t one.
It’s dead I tell you. Dead.
Always on its last legs it was.
Gasping its demise when first
It dropped into my head.
Carried me nowhere,
Never reached the starting line.
Bury it good and proper I will,
And get a sleeping dog instead.
It might dream something up.
ONE OF NOTTINGHAMS
WHO PASSED AWAY THIS WEEK
RON GARDNER WILL BE SADLY MISSED BY ALL OF US
AT POETREE CREATIONS