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  • Filling the trough, I glanced into the field:
    In autumn's morning light-
    moving profiles etched golden:
    My daughter and the pony
    her long hair tossing as she neighed and cantered
    then quietly slowed, stooped, hugging the stalwart equine, who, through her antics
    stood nobly, as if on a moor, taking it in.
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