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A Pony Tale...


In the valley by the rippling creek

arose a stench, a crippling reek;


the whirring wings of a dragonfly

hovered next to a flagon dry.


On the stone banks lay a bony pile,

the rotting remains of pony bile;


the horse had drunk the flagon dry

when offered it by the dragonfly.


Not quite dead the horse drew breath

narrowly missing a cruel brew death;


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