The following poem written by Dr. A.B.Harding is a tribute to his chestnut mare “Pone” he drove for so many years.

I feel there is a duty, that I
never yet have done
I’m going to write a tribute, to a

dear friend that is gone;
And I hope you will excuse me, and I
know you will of course,
When I tell you, that this friend of mine
was nothing but a horse.
She was not bred in Kentucky, I’ll give
you first to know,
But up in Allegany, where the big leeks
grow.

Her foot was small and pretty, she had
a roguish eye;
Her tail was long and heavy, her head
she carried high;
Her mane was thick and wavy, her
limbs were straight and small;
Her glossy neck was proudly arched,
and beautiful withall.
She had one other virtue, she knew  just
how to go
She was bred in Allegany, where the
big leeks grow.

I shall never hold another, so closely in
my heart;
For she seemed to know her duty, and
always did her part;
And tho’ she often spilled me, beside
the thoroughfare,
I never laid up anything, against my
little mare.
 It seemed to me, she knew  more, than 
other horses know;
She was bred in Allegany, where the
big leeks grow.

Oft have I had her leave me, without
her proper load;
And scatter all my precious pills, along
the lonely road;
Break my buggy into bits, cutter into
kindling  wood,
And raise the very devil, in the worst
way that she could.
Yet, she was worth more to me, than
any horse I know;
She was bred in Allegany, where the
big leeks grow.

You may talk about your autos, and
your gasoline machines;
Your  motorcycles, runabouts, coupes  and
limousines;
Your electric running  motors, and your
racers, if you please;
But I would bet and match her ‘gainst
any one of these,
For just jump in behind her, and give
the word to go;
She was bred in Allegany, where the
big leeks grow.

Alas! she has departed to her long
eternal sleep;
And now, when I must drive a horse,
it fairly  makes me  weep,
To think how slow I’m going, along the
thoroughfare
It never was in this way, when I drove
the little mare.
And if I should go to Heaven, and that
pony hasn’t gone;
There’l be a great big rumpus around
the golden throne;
They’l find that I don’t like it, and I’ll
tell the angels so;
We were bred in Allegany, where the
big leeks grow.

                             --Dr. A.B. Harding

--Originally published in an unknown newspaper 
in Castill, N.Y.