2 colts racing at the Great Race Place,
Battling down the stretch, face to face.
The winner dwarfs the rest of the field,
But his true power was still concealed
Within the hulking, fiery bronze frame.
To him, it was all just a game.
Facing the Firing Line not once, but twice
The whole West Coast felt his vice.
He matched the Line and Mr Z stride for stride
His size not amounting to half as much as his pride.
Even royalty couldn't get a grip on him
They sent Lord Nelson when off on a whim.
By March, everyone knew the name
Of the big beast no thing could tame.
We thought:
last year' success-could he be the same?
Or might he achieve a higher level of fame?
Even the people of his namesake town
Across the ocean, in Germany, would be proud.
One of two banes of the Triple Crown drought,
When he hits Churchill's track, hear the joyful shouts.
He's a giant, coppery son of big brown.
All his rivals' connections see him and frown
Cuz they know they can't take Dortmund down.
His rivals' camps become ghost towns.
But the Firing Line wants another shot
A coup to overthrow the king is his plot.
Although his chances may be oh-so-slim
He's the only real competition there was in prelims
But even to Zetcher's colt, the future looks grim
Cuz Dortmund's full of heart, to the brim.
