Stinker

With all of my vim and my vigor and might,

I wash Honey’s tail, trying to make it white.

(With all of the scrubbing, it’s still fairly yellow,

and if I can’t whiten this hair, then I’ll bellow!)

The pony eats grass, not a care in the world,

Her owner’s small grip upon sanity’s unfurled,

As soon as she’s put in the pasture to play,

Honey rolls, kicks her heels, and enjoys my dismay.