Liz and Peg would always share.
When Lizzie’s Dad bought her a mare
She wanted Peg to ride behind her.
She instructed Peg to mind her.
“Left foot in the stirrup,” Lizzie said,
“Then right over.” “Right,” said Peg,
And rose into the stirrup high,
Threw her right foot halfway over.
The filly whinnied then did fly,
Bolting over grass and clover.
“Grab the reins,” friend Lizzie hollered
As the silly filly bolted
Willy nilly, never halted.
Peg hung on to the mare’s mane,
Tried to catch a dangling rein,
One foot in stirrup, one on saddle,
Trying hard the mare to straddle.
Desperately she tried to halt
The filly from her frantic bolt.
“Stop!” she cried as the mare sped
Through the paddock. Full of dread
Peg clung on for dear life.
A barbed wire fence loomed. That meant strife. From the fence Peg tried to steer it,
But the filly rose to clear it.
With choice barbed wire or hard ground,
Peg let go and tumbled down.
To the earth with violet bump
She fell. Sore dignity, sore rump
She scored from her first wild career,
And as Lizzie came up near,
“I forgot to tell you,” Lizzie said,
“First you grab the reins, poor Peg.”