“Penning of the Little Banker Pony”
By Billie C. Huling
“You can’t go home, you’ll have to stay,”
Sang the lonely lad to the little bay.
“No more you’ll roam the Banks of Ca’e,
For they say your breed must be fenced away.”
His head was down and his mane was matted,
And he felt defeat through his pen was slatted.
He saw blue water, sniffed salt air,
And dreamed of a freedom beyond the Bar.
Dimly he knew how the sires had come,
Over the seas with pirates an drum.
Up from the Santo where left by Balbo
Thence to the Banks by Teache’s foe
The evening crept in and the moon was on Core,
Little Banker was quiet, but grieving no more.
Low tide was approaching as he swayed to and fro,
The fence gave quietly as he stepped toward the shore,
And made ready his swim at the ebb of the tide.
The men came running with shouting and flame,
But the Little Banker Pony was riding to fame.
He splashed and he swam to Shackleford Bend,
To run free and wiry, and strong to the end.
How he’ll flee and he’ll hide when men come to fish,
Or lads hunt for turtles by the moon if they wish.
He’ll watch from a distance, or sprint out of sight,
When they come for a ride, or may give him a fright.
Mailboat, Summer 1991 Vol.
2, No. 2