Jeg faldt over dette digt, som har været publiceret i The Fell Pony magazine i 1989. Kh Iben
A WISH
How I wish that I could see,
Fell ponies as they used to be.
With nice crisp action so straight and true,
Feather, flat bone and good feet so blue.
Stepping smartly around the ring,
Or helping the tradesman to do his 'thing,'
They had such pride and joy of living,
Such energy, grace and ever willing.
Now they trundle round the ring,
On legs and joints that have lost their spring,
Trailing along at the end of a rope,
Their owners talking or having a smoke.
Round bone is now fashion,
With feet like a moke,
Cutting the daisies with each ambling stroke.
For all I know there still may be,
Many good ponies that we never see.
Roaming the fells and lonely places,
Smart little types that can show off their paces.
13.2 is the height they should be,
Not 14 hands the dear 'ladies' decree.
If my wish be granted, I may still live to see,
The real true Fell pony as they used to be.
