Precariously Placed Pony Poems Picturing Plenty of Pheelings

Scootaloo sat in a chair
She didn't have a care
The poison had done its job
Her head began to bob

She wasn't long for life
her life was so full of strife
Her vision went black
Her senses began to lack

She was on the floor
The tears began to pour
It was all finally over
Off to the pasture clover