A small, aging pony stands head in the corner
Drooping lip lowered, flicking long tail,
You fancy she'd do for your family to learn on?
- Her owners will tell you she's just not for sale,
She dreams in the sunshine of children now grown up
Never is saddled, has nothing to do,
The old folk fuss about her, grooming her daily,
Bringing her thistles and apples to chew.
When the children come home they visit her paddock,
Words of endearment accompany caress,
Clearly their eyes say she's something quite special
Not just a reminder of past youthfulness,
There's a story that's told when memories wander,
A near tragedy diverted from course,
By the faithful devotion, the unflinching courage,
The generous heart of this one little horse.
The river rose swiftly -- a mother in anguish
Watched helpless and hopeless, a tree spinning down,
Two children clung grimly to splintered, stark branches
Wind and rain tore them, they seemed sure to drown,
The school pony fretted beside murky water
Distressed by each terrified, heart rending cry
Finally plunged, fought the mad, frothing currents,
Swept briefly in reach as the debris swung by.
The struggle seemed endless, back through the wild torrent,
Heaving and stumbling up treacherous bank,
A moment of joy, then nameless cold horror,
Silent, despairing, they watched as she sank,
The blazed head went under - her mane like dark seaweed
Floated an instant, then swirled from their sight,
The children woke sobbing, sure they could hear her
Whinnying sadly, night after night.
Many weeks later a young stockman found her
Grazing beyond the far boundary line,
A homecoming welcomed with tears and with laughter,
Her bravery lauded for now and all time,
There's a small aged pony now grandchildren fondle,
They each know the story, repeating the tale,
And callers that come with their teasing enquiry,
Soon hear that this pony is never for sale !