• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 11
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Your mad eye met me
Every morning before school
When I fed you first
The golden rule
And you showed your thanks
By nipping my knees
Or stamping hoof on foot
As hard as you pleased
And the miles we hacked
Were no peaceful ride
As you blindly bolted
From tractors behind
And you threw me at will
Into ditch and dirt
And then grazed quite happily
As I lay there hurt
Bloodied and bruised
And so often in pain
Contemplating next day’s ride
When we’d do it again

*Bandit was my pony when I was growing up in rural Shropshire. He was completely nuts.