ANCIENT PONY

She seems like a wild pony

That roamed the earth ten thousand years ago.

She is not created for this age

Her nose sniffs the summer winds

Knows the flowers by their smell, the grasses,

Other creatures passing near,

Her mane is a collection of oak leaves and buttercups

Wet from impulsive swims in sweet streams

Her feet may as well be hooves

She has foraged in the wildest sweetest groves,

Tread twisting mountain paths

Her perfume, so feral, so compelling

Excites the very earth wherever she steps.

And her eyes believe in you

And in herself

And in the dreams we have a right to dream...