Sonnets from the Equestrian

I see you are from Cloudsdale, by those stains

Upon your hoof. You are a rainbow-moulder.

Myself? See how I tend this tomcat's shoulder.

The animals confide to me their pains,

And, frightened, seek my shelter when it rains;

Though I, for my own part, could be much bolder.

What's this, a chill? The weather's getting colder.

I'd better head back home: Angel complains

If I get chilled. Until next time—what's that?

You ask me where I live? Ahh, well, I'll tell.

A cottage on the edge of Ponyville

Is mine. It is a sleepy habitat.

I do not fly much through the heav'nly dome;

The ground on which I stand—that is my home.