I went out for a walk one day
and I saw a girl who was very sad.
She cried and she cried.
I asked her why but she wouldn’t say
and I looked down;
daisies grew in the grass at my feet.
I plucked one and smiled.
I gave her the flower.
I took my dog for a walk the next day
and I saw her again.
Still crying, still sad.
I asked her why but she still wouldn’t say
and I looked up;
there were colors in the sky.
Colors of fire.
I stood on my tiptoes and took four or five.
Pink, yellow, orange.
A green, and a blue.
I smiled at the girl.
I gave her a rainbow.
Two days later
I took my new pony out for a ride.
We passed by the girl who was sad
in a meadow.
He's a pretty red pony.
I just got him too.
His mane and his tail are the color of butter
and the girl who was sad
she sobbed and she wailed;
I didn’t bother to ask this time.
She was blubbering, and all—
what else could I do–
I smiled at the girl.
I gave her my pony.
It seemed right at the time
then a week or so passed and I saw her again;
she wailed and she sobbed and she cried even more,
and I thought of something I hadn’t before—
maybe for some people, sad is happy.
Some people, maybe, enjoy being sad.
The next time I went for a walk,
I saw her,
sobbing and wailing and bawlin’ away;
all those tears.
But I learned something from her.
She taught me a lesson without saying a word.
I smiled and I said to the girl who was sad,
the rainbow, the daisy,
keep ‘em, they’re yours—
but I want my goddamn pony back.