LOVE OF THE HORSE With narrowed eyes they judged the field He informed, the Grey's sire, was a great mover. She remarked, The Chestnut's dam had a sweet mouth. Red, yellow, blue, racing silks of every hue, rippled in the sunlight across the flickering screen. Around the room lay tarnished trophies. Walls, a mosaic of photographs of mares and foals. Room corners holding drifts of magazines and books, listing bloodlines. Stating what sires were standing where, and for how much. The crumbling mansion, revealing that for long years past, every spare hundred was spent on Chestnuts, Greys, Roans, Bays, and they regretted not one penny. -- Barbara Diamond, "The Leitrim Guardian"