One day, I YouTubed Greyhounds.
I have not met many in person,
But they are quiet, mostly,
And gentle; noble looking,
Brushed with brindle, often,
Lean and arced like impossible instruments.

And so, a race I came across—
It was somwhere in the Middle East
Within the vast expanse of a desert flat.
The dogs were lined up, ready;
Some jumped high in the air in excitement,
While other sat poised,
Held firm by their robed owners.

And when the race began,
I watched them all bound onwards,
Racing, roaring onwards with such speed,
Coursing uncollared, deft and free.