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Waiting for Me

by an eight-year-old Jessica Schley (and my first ever published piece)

(c) 1993

Once upon a time, just a day ago, 

There was a pony

She was thirty two.

The little girl that owned her

Was very sad, 

For the little pony was lame. 

One day her grandpa said, 

"We should put that pony down,

for she is thirty two

And the pain she suffers just will not do!"

But the pony, strong and free, 

Was trotting, trotting gaily and free. 

For she was strong, the old Appy knew, 

Trotting, trotting gaily and free; happy and free.

Once there was a little girl, sitting at the top of her tree, 

Waiting, watching, waiting, watching. 

For her pony to come to the top of the hill, 

So she could see her pony once more. 

The pony was now thirty-three.

Some people said, "That cannot be!"

But it is true, as you shall see, 

For I have a picture left in my heart.

As far as I know, my pony's still free, 

Out in the field, waiting for me. 

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