Her gleaming coat is as golden as the sun,
Her mane is coarse hay.
She nickers softly, the day has begun,
And she begins to play keep away.
This horse of mine with her high arched neck,
Her half-wild eyes and mighty figure.
A mare with a temperament,
Whose tail flicks when she acts bitter.
Miss Molly Grinder, a most gentle horse,
She loved with all of her heart.
But one day she took a separate course,
And fell ill without a start.
Alas, there came that fateful day,
When she passed, and could not stay.
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