Jack and His Pony, Tom
H. Belloc
Jack had a little pony, Tom.
He frequently would take it from
The stable where it used to stand
And give it sugar with his hand.
He also gave it oats and hay
And carrots twenty times a day
And grass in basketfuls and greens
And swedes and mangels: also beans;
And patent foods from various sources
And bread—which isn’t good for horses—
And chocolate and apple-rings,
And lots and lots of other things
The most of which do not agree
With Polo Ponies such as he,
And all in such a quantity
As ruined his digestion wholly
And turned him from a Pono Poly
—I mean a Polo Pony—into
A case that clearly must be seen to,
Because he swelled and swelled and swelled.
Which, when the kindly boy beheld,
He gave it medicine by the pail
In malted milk, and nutmeg ale,
And yet it only swelled the more
Until its stomach touched the floor;
And then it heaved and groaned as well
And staggered, till at last it fell
And found it could not rise again.
Jack wept and prayed—but all in vain.
The pony died, and, as it died,
Kicked him severely in the side.