A Poem by 13 year old Callie Jo, The Barrel Racer.

She’s tense but ready, she hears the crowd, sees the lights, and smells the dirt in the arena.  She is nervous, but her horse is calm and ready. The announcer calls her name, and like thunder, they storm out of that alley way going 30. She sees the first barrel, or logically called the money barrel. They turn with such grace and agility in one swift motion.  The crowd goes wild. They race to second close, close one turn, one movement, its like a blur as they as they fly by.  On to third the clock ticks and at a moment its like the crowd holds its breath.  Around third so quick and smooth they race home with a mark in that arena.