The Lonely Pony

The pony stood still on the pink evening
With the stars glistening far far above
Out from a flowerbush she heard something sing
Perhaps it was a crow, perhaps a dove

The other ponies were all together
Playing games and chasing their own shadows
She wanted to join them, but wasn’t sure whether
She belonged with them or with singing crows

Shaking her mane, she decided to run
Like the ghost of a speck of former dust
Was she going towards or away from the sun?
Felt she would stumble at each sullen gust

The faster she ran the less real she grew
Until the became a shadow someone drew