(based on Shakespeare's Sonnet XVIII)
Or, "O Pony-Bill, O Pony-Bill,
Wherefore art thou, O Pony-Bill?"
Shall I compare thee to a sleek, tall Bay?
Thou art more shaggy and more intemperate:
Rough winds do make your tangled tail to sway,
And the travelers' pile on you too great a weight.
Sometimes your sight within your eyes does fine,
But often is your equine forelock untrimm'd;
In every path and river you sometimes decline,
By chance, or stubborn change in course, unswimm'd;
But thy direction homeward shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that stable thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in between the stable walls thou growest;
So long as you can breathe and eat your feed,
So long you will live, if they provide what you need.