The pony was born on the first of July;
A beautiful roan, with a wild look in his eye!
I named him Wildfire because I could see
He never ever would be tamed by a girl like me.
Running with the speed of an eagle in flight, Wildfire raced on, carefree with delight;
He never won ribbons but he was the best;
A free spirit intent on outdoing the rest!
I never sat saddle on that young roan,
I was quite content to just leave him alone;
And up in the hills (if you look right away)
You'll see Wildfire prancing at play.
Some horses are meant to be tamed and to ride,
A halter and saddle they seem to abide;
With a toss of his head, Wildfire stays free,
And will never be tamed by a girl like me.
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