A zebra and a brindled horse
Communicated using Morse
But when the wind was turning raw
They changed their ways to semaphore

But what’s the point the Zebra said
Will friends recall us when we’re dead
Or will they laugh and point a shoe
And criticise the things we do

Don’t get downhearted, please don’t brood
Don’t spoil our lovely solitude
The dots and dashes, flags and sticks
Are how we get our laughs and kicks

It could be worse for me and you
We could be wasting in a zoo
But we have got the hills and plains
To gallop freely without reins

And so they took themselves to bed
To think about the things they’d said
And banished all their equine blues
By never taking off their shoes