by George Moses Horton
He's gone, alas! I know not whither,
With hair and bones and flesh together;
By hungry fowls he may be slain,
Hence, he will not come back again.
He's gone, but who can show his rider?
Or if concealed, who knows his hider?
One thing is sure, his tramps are o'er,
And hence, will here come back no more!
He's gone, and may be far the better,
As well as mine, the devil's debtor;
He's gone, the buzzard's to deprive,
Who could not take the beast alive.
He's gone, but left no trace behind him,
And hence it will be hard to find him;
If thee no more I'll ride old friend,
My good old pony, fare-thee-well!
Last updated March 11, 2023