10.

There's folks today still tell the tale,
In the quiet evening hours,
When the heat of the speed of the passing hooves
Drained the life from the roadside flowers
When every heart was prepared to break,
And every eye weep a tear,
As they prayed or cheered or cursed in their beards,
For the horse they held so dear.

It was surely a loss, for the giant Brown
Still strove at Big Mom's head
And his tail was high and his head was down
Lookin' strong, and game, and fed.

And some as was there still get the stare
Of a man who sees too far,
And can't quite reckon the time and the ways
When reality lowers the bar.

But the darkening clouds grew over Brown
In the last of the quart-miles
And a spray of lightning light came down
And snaked across the ground

And it didn't hit Brown enough to hurt,
Of blood, there warn't a dab.
But it bit his heels and made him leap,
And startle, and stall, and crab.

And while he crabbed Big Mom blew by,
Like dawn pouring into day,
And poured on everything she had,
And she crossed 25 of Kay.