All the little ponies
Are standing on the hill
Gaze out across the valley
Wild mustang regal and wear
Asks smallest pony to himself
Why magestic am I nere?
No wings to glide along the clouds
Refused legs lean and long?
Nor was I gifted and bestowed
sprouted horn upon my crown

Then jumps nearby a frog to he
and startles neigh a-fright
Upon which he did rear and stomp
Squashing frog among the leaves
And pony never asked again
For perspective gained release.