Jake Thackray Fine Bay Pony
It was a fine bay pony,
One of the north country kind,
With the bright blue trap going clippety-clappety,
Happily rattling behind his
Delicate little haunches.
She cried, oh! how she cried,
Leaning her head against the window pane,
Watching, day after day,
Awaiting some glimpse
Of him slowly climbing up
The lane between the stony
Walls that always lay between them.
It was a fine bay pony,
One of the north country kind,
With the bright blue trap going clippety-clappety,
Happily rattling behind his
Dancing little hoof steps.
She cried, oh! how she cried unbelievingly,
Holding her hands to her cheekbones,
When she saw him one day
Winding up the dale.
She went running down the yard
And out into the field
With opening arms for him to enter.
It was a fine bay pony,
One of the north country kind,
With the bright blue trap going clippety-clappety,
Happily rattling behind his
Dainty little fetlocks.
It was a fine bay pony,
One of the north country kind,
With the bright blue trap going clippety-clappety,
Happily rattling behind his
Homecoming clip-a-clop.
