My King

Far away was my village

Withered and worn

Due to age

No one but me, could be there

On horseback; and, only by air!

My horse was a little pony.

White mane glistening 

On his silky hide.

He was handsome; he was my pride.

When I asked him to fly 

He said he’d try.

Soon, he was was away 

God knows why.

Returned in a while, did he

Little, sturdy gossamer wings

On him. “Shall I climb?”

“Of course,” he said. Off we went.

Into the clouds. High above

mountains. Over hills and valleys.

Beyond cloud towers and smoke castles.

No hustle, no bustle, 

Not one leaf did rustle.

Then he told me about the fairy queen.

Good to him she always had been.

She wanted him to be her king

And so she gave him the pretty wings.

My handsome pony is now a king.

But I am sad. It was my bad.

Should never have climbed my pony’s back.