A little boy who, strange to say,
Was called by the name of John,
Once bought himself a little horse
To ride behind, and upon.
A handsomer beast you never saw,
He was so sleek and fat;
He has but a single fault,” said John,
“And a trifling one at that”
His mane and tail grew thick and long,
He was quick to trot or run;
His coat was yellow, flecked with brown;
John called him Dappledun.
He never kicked and never bit;
In harness well he drew ;
But this was the single foolish thing
That Dappledun would do.
He ran in clover up to his knees,
His trough was filled with stuff;
Yet he’d jump the neighbor’s fence,
and act As if he hadn’t enough.
If he only could have been content
With his feed of oats and hay,
Poor headstrong, foolish Dappledun
Had been alive to-day.
But one night when his rack was filled
With what he ought to eat,
He thrust his nose out of his stall,
And into a bin of wheat
And there he ate, and ate, and ate,
And when he reached the tank
Where Johnny watered him next morn,
He drank, and drank, and drank.
And when that night John carried him
The sweet hay from the rick,
He lay and groaned, and groaned, and
groaned, For Dappledun was sick.
And when another morning came
And John rose from his bed
And went to water Dappledun,
Poor Dappledun was dead !