MY HORSE
I give my pony corn and hay,
With oats to tempt him twice a week;
I smooth and curry every day
Until his coat is bright and sleek;
At night he has a cosy stall;
He does not seem to care at all.
I mount him often, hurriedly,
And ride him fast and ride him far;
With whip and spur I make him fly
Along the road where robbers are;
But when I've galloped madly home
He is not wet or flecked with foam.
He does not plunge against the rein,
Nor take a ditch nor clear a rail.
He does not toss his flowing mane,
He does not even switch his tail.
Oh, well, he does his best, of course;
He's nothing but a hobby-horse!
NANCY BYRD TURNER.