Their time for racing is no more.
No longer on winged hooves do they soar.
It matters not who's first or last:
their names the crowds no longer roar.

This is now a thing of the past;
for that die's already been caste.
Never again put to the test
of proving whether they are fast.

Some go to their reward of rest;
some become pets where they'll do best,
while others shall come to abide
in a different world of conquest.

Some now graze with a foal by their side
or look on their offspring with pride
or contemplating their next stride
as over hurdles they do glide.