HARRY

Last week an elder statesman chose to leave the line, depart the fray

He called his dog and broke his gun and heading for the setting sun

Just shuffled off and he was gone; no fanfare, lights or grand Swansong

He chose his time and time moved on.

With dusk now cloaking Helmsley’s moors, he took a somewhat lengthy pause

To contemplate a ghastly thought, a Heaven packed with frightful bores

For all here gathered on this day to wave dear Harry on his way

Are hoping on the other side he finds a damn good place to hide

A room that tiresome types won’t know, a place where he can quietly go

With Ziggy circling, settling down, the 3.15 from Leopardstown

A Racing Post, remote control, and Eich outside on bore patrol

Whilst this might speak of latter traits, there’s so much more to recognise

For Harry’s life was full of fun, of mischief, charm…of compromise

From years in rare Society to late-in-life sobriety, he never lost what made him…him

Despite his fight with Gordon’s Gin, he soldiered on, he toughed it out

In Wiltons…Langoustine or trout; but what he really focused on

Beyond his family and AA, was Helmsley where he brightly shone

A Left and Right, the old Black Swan, the pheasant, grouse, the kale, the moor

The madding crowd, the ghastly bore were miles from here

In Yorkshire, Harry’s name’s revered; they held him close, they hold him dear

And though one thought all lines were drawn, he found a love of endless worth

From younger days, a love reborn, the golden glory of the Turf

Where once he raced with breeches on, now stick in hand he gently moved

Amongst Prince Khaled’s closest crowd; he stood and watched as history bowed to Frankel

Who is widely seen the greatest horse there’s ever been

Now Harry’s passed his winning post; to Father, son and Holy Ghost

Make sure he has what he likes best, from all of us, it’s our request

Last week an elder statesman chose to leave the line, depart the fray

He called his dog and broke his gun; he beat Mandela by a day