Precariously Placed Pony Poems Picturing Plenty of Pheelings

The pot sat on the fire
Burning and boiling
Something she'd never tire
Was cooking, with its toiling

She'd sharpened the knives
Sauteed the meat
Sliced the chives
It was a grand feet

She wasn't the best chef
But she loved it all the same
"Cooking for oneself
was no shame."

She'd say as she stirred
Sitting alone in the kitchen
But she was demurred
Wishing for someone she was smitten

"One day soon."
She'd said
"I'll have a family, to commune
to make sure they're fed"