“Sonnet to Snickers –
(With Apologies to Shakespeare)”

My Mare is nothing like a Thoroughbred;
Their legs reach the ground far faster than hers;
If they be eager than she be dead;
If their tails be silk, then her rump grows only burrs;
I have seen leather trapped Hunters, graceful and light,
But no such grace or weight in my Mare abides;
And in Thoroughbred stalls there is much more delight
Than in mucking the stall in which my Mare resides.
I love to sit her trot, yet well I know
That an earthquake hath a far less rumbling ride.
I grant I never saw a unicorn go;
My Mare, when she walks, hardly moves her hide.
And yet, by Heaven, I think my Mare hath more smarts
Than any Thoroughbred whose beauty only comes from arts.