Small Victory

You've no business buying a mare like that, but buy her 
if you must."
He bit the end off his cigar and spat it in the dust.
"She's old and lame and barren, too
She's not worth feed and hay
But I'll give you this," - he blew smoke at me - 
"She was something in her day."
"I recall her well ten years ago; she was a winner in 
her prime.
She was fast and lean and willing, but they raced her 
past her time.
And though she had the heart, her legs were gone, 
And it wasn't hard to see, they kept her at it 
In the hopes of just one more small victory."

"She was shunted ÂŒround from track to track, from 
Kentucky up to Maine.
They'd run her in cheap claimers, all doped up to mask 
her pain.
And it it's my advice you ant I'd say, the poor thing's 
had her day
You'd be throwing good cash after bad. It's best you 
turn away."

Well they led her ÂŒround the auction shed, and the 
bidding started low.
"She'll go for dog food," someone said, "the market's 
been that slow."
But she raised her head and pricked her ears, and 
before the hammer fell, 
She was mine.
My friend turned ÂŒround to me "You're soft-headed I can 
tell."
But she's been shoved from pillar to post," said I, 
"And always done her best.
They used her up, they wrung her dry; you'd think she'd 
earned a rest.
So if she does not naught but end her days beneath some 
shady tree,
I'll have saved her from the knacker's yard, and that's 
enough for me."

Well, that was near two years ago, she's filled out 
some since then.
The more so since she's been in foal, she eats enough 
for ten.
And this morn as I crept to the barn around ÂŒbout half 
past three,
There stood nursing on still trembling legs, one more 
small victory.