by Chris Solter

Created on: June 09, 2009

Up Jockey Cap

It was a pudding run,

The coach gave us an hour,

It was cool and crisp,

Not very wind, at the bottom,

Then, at the tree line,

The truth was felt,

The wind raged at the summit,

It buffeted us through our running gear,

And in the clear blue sky,

A few birds were soaring high above us,

Looking down on us, watching us,

On top of an island in a sea of trees,

In an immense bowl,

Its sides, faraway peaks,

It was a pudding run,

And the coach gave us an hour.

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