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.