He was Sunup to all who him
And when given his fill of mash
He'd run with his soul like the wind
In the race called the 100-yard dash. Not many could find a first place
On the dusty road called a track
'Cause Sunup had that running grace
That put him in front of the pack. Life was but a game to him
For which he had a knack
He liked to have his belly scratched
And sometimes farther back. How does one say goodbye
To a friend of so many years?
To think that this friend could die
Would cost too many tears. "Viejo" I thought as I loosened his cinch
And pulled off the old brown saddle,
He is just as tall by every inch--
"My God, what a hell of a battle"-- Years have passed; my bones are tired
And my hair has turned to gray.
But just as a priest remembers his prayers
I'll remember Sunup - today.