Mr. E. Quine is feeling his muse, but only in his own tent! Ha. But he has taken the stage again with this special vers de societe as three very special horses make their way to the Wandering Barnyard Show. So pull up your chair and take note, Mr. E. Quine is taking bets now on who will win the Triple Crown.

This e-poem is being sponsored by Uncle Bubba's Hoofprint Whiskey, "Stomping down livers since 1909."

He gallops, she gallops, they gallop all three,
Big Brown, Wimpys Little Chic, and High Brow CD.
They gallop to riches, to fame, and renown,
As each keeps the pace to his own Triple Crown.
So I’ll play the prophet, be your Delphic source,
For three is a number of magical force.

Despite a cracked hoof, an unbeaten bay
Will enter the park of the Belmont race day.
Desormeaux and Big Brown, with little concern,
Will burst like a gunshot in that final turn.
Along with applause and a million-plus check,
He’ll have white carnations draped over his neck.

Now Flarida pilots Wimpys Little Chic.
The queen of the reiners, this mare’s no goldbrick.
She nails her maneuvers, she turns in a blur,
The difficult lead change looks easy to her.
She’ll then drop her head as if bowing to go;
You’ll win if you bet on that blond palomino.

The Derby in Texas is cutting’s third treat,
And High Brow CD is just too hard to beat.
Now Shepard may lighten the bridle and bit
To free up this horse; any cow he’ll outwit.
A drop of his haunches, a heave of his flank,
The stallion will go down as one of first rank.

Come one, come all and listen to the lyrical stylings of the world famous troubadour, the mesmerizing poet Mr. E. Quine himself.

This e-poem is being sponsored by Betsy's Bits and Bridles, "If you need something to chew on, try Betsy's bits, the sweetest iron west of Lake Tawakoni."

A mystical force surrounding two men
Has created a stir inside the show pen,
And they both wear green,
They’re men in green.

Some say it’s Louisiana black voodoo
That’s transformed green into a magical hue.
They’re charmed in green,
Those men in green.

Shawn Flarida slides in to whistles and hollers,
An earner of well over $2 million,
He grins in green,
Cause he wins in green.

The crock of gold will belong to Shawn,
For no one can catch this leprechaun.
A reiner in green,
That man in green.

Whether Wimpys Little Chic or Walla Walla Whiz,
If he’s donning the green, the championship’s his.
He takes home the green,
When he’s in green.

An Alabama trainer named Austin Shepard
Likes wearing green, so his rivals get peppered.
He’s a mean green bean,
In his shirt of green.

He’s won three consecutive futurities,
Including Augusta and Tunica, with ease,
While wearing green,
That gremlin in green.

Austin didn’t stop there, didn’t put on the brakes,
He then took the Super and Cotton Stakes,
There’s something about green,
That cutter in green.

All cutters are wondering what it could be:
Can’t blame it on his mount High Brow CD.
It must be the green,
Cause he wins in green.

Now cutters and reiners better listen hard
To the sage advice from this here bard:
You’ll get more green,
If you’re wearing green.