A friend of mine wrote this as a way to describe how he saw me.
2005
A feral Pony
Daniel Clark
Up in the morning,
The birds sing and he listens,
Eating his food quietly,
Sorting out him.
A feral pony,
In his small world,
Happy and solitary,
Choosing to be alone.
His name is called,
He gladly works,
Ceaselessly and with zeal,
Laughing and chatting.
His happiness increases,
As the sun rises,
And everyone knows,
As he trots and gallops for joy.
He is such a strange little pony,
The rest laugh at him,
Yet he still keeps his smile,
And he trots on.