The little pony stands upon his pride
As do we all, as do we all.
With coiling mane and glittering hide
He stumbles from the earthworn stall
His pride and vehemence his all.
What if they take it from him and he fall?
Now children pout and perch upon the wall
By which he stands to rear them ‘gainst the tide
Of his brown side.
But if they kick and bawl?
God save the pony, then, from all
Our deadlock heaven holds at its tall pole
Against the braked composure of the will
Which he must know to go at all.
God save the pony that he not be maimed
Beyond redemption and recall,
His low broad nostril and his waiting back
A taunt to those afflicted by their lack,
To whips the gash, to power the gall,
And despot law.
The Pony
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