Ragwort the Ginger Legs

Ragwort The Ginger Legs, there’s not a one to match her,
She the finest horse you’ll ever ride if only you could catch her,

Her paces are magnificent, the best you’ll ever find,
Just watch that trot and canter, as her rider runs behind.

Ragwort The Ginger Legs, As all good horses aught,
Will trot up to her rider when she’s ready to be caught,

She’ll stand as her headcollar is slipped around her head,
She will not move a muscle, even as she’s being lead.

She’ll stand there looking placid as her rider pulls and pushes,
She just selects her moment then she kicks him in the bushes,

Ragwort The Ginger Legs, she really likes her tack,
But not the bridle on her head or the saddle on her back,

Or her girth or brushing boots, and the martingale can go,
But she doesn’t mind her rosette, ‘cos she won that in a show.

By John Peters

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