The landlord had his instructions to his trusted constable,
To have tamed his white-furred pony in the stable.
When he discovered that his lover eloped,
He had his white pony galloped.
Only in the far corner did he see a smithy,
Where a lad was at work in a hut that was grimy.
No other trails did his blazing eyes spot,
His wounded heart alone knew how brutally he was shot.
The rage that burnt in his eyes was fiery,
While the trudge across the slopes was weary.
Sprinting was he on his white pony,
With his darting eyes that looked horny.
At the rugged terrain had the rattling hoofs of his pony slipped,
It had the pages of his life story flipped.
The broken fragments did he try to repair,
With his efforts in utter despair.
The crimson spotted exquisite bloom,
His only comrade wept in gloom.