The National (Nothing grand about it)

Steeplechasing racing

at Aintree they  build those fences

just to see

who can jump and run like hell

and who can fall and be

struggling like the next one

and galloping ahead

the spitefulness and viciousness

and maybe who lies dead

the malice and the venom

arguably so

those wretched fences

and high high walls

that with exhaustion

seem to grow

those horses how they suffer

the persecution seems

all the training takes its toll

this is no racing dreams

its dangerous and its hostile

the ruthless do their thing

the gamblers make their money

and what does it all bring

a bit of gross excitement

steely grimfaced souls

the cruelty is obvious

torture for those goals

the rich and landed gentry

are out there on the rails

with little understanding

pity clearly fails

the horses suffer intolerably

and many die each year

they kind of ran their hearts out

and were finished off I fear

if you dont win

the knackers yard

is where you have to go

a bullet through your brainbox

and nothing much to show

for all they heady running

for all that effort you

gave to win those races

which you could never do

the punters couldnt care less

some jockeys also  do say

everyones replaceable

so what if some pay

its a hard  dark venue

a thankless task in fact

racing  racing horses

how does one react

its cruelty personified

the horses give so much

there is only ever one winner

and the losers well as such

are not given  a fair shot

its hard going for sure

a bullet if you lucky

if not just blood and gore