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Or buy a halo for my head Or sink into a starry bed Or say the prayers 1 should have said Before the donuts, rolls or coffees 1'Ufind the secretary’s office. In my first interview, of course, I’ll ask St. Peter for a horse. He’U lead me down the heavenly sheds Past miles and miles of Thoroughbreds And say, “Since you’ve escaped Old Nick . . . They’re on the house; just take your pick.” So when old GabrieTs golden horn Echoes from cloud to cloud each morn And “It is post time” rings out loud and clear. . . I will be ready with my gear; My horse and I will not be late (Though I’ll be slightly overweight.) Then, free from every mortal sin (Including Butazolidin!) We’ll gallop through celestial fields Where neither mist nor mud conceals The graceful movements of the horse, The wide and green and endless course. Though some may think, and I’ll agree That only God can make a tree. Before God thought of trees, it’s said. His mind was on the Thoroughbred. — By PAUL MELLON (Editor’s note: Reprinted here with permission from the author, the above poem was taken from a 1975 speech by philanthropist and horseman Paul Mellon. The verse, and many others, appear in his autobiography, “Reflections in.a, Silver Spoon, ”)
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