Traveling in Long Island, we come upon a lonely horse on a farm. He eagerly joins us at the side of the fence. We pet the lovely horse, we feed him wheat from the farm. As we turn away to leave, our lovely horse begins to cry, so sweetly the sound of his loneliness fills the air, and I write this poem...

We found a crying horse,
his voice was sad and coarse.
Weeping, weeping hee haw,
we found a crying horse.

We fed the crying horse,
with barley, hay and oats.
Weeping, weeping hee haw,
we fed the crying horse.

We pet the crying horse,
his hair, his back, and nose.
Weeping, weeping hee haw,
we pet the crying horse.

We loved the crying horse,
to the tail we pinned a rose.
Weeping, weeping hee haw,
we loved the crying horse.

But his voice was high and coarse,
too clumsy for a horse
Weeping, weeping, hee haw,
too clumsy for a horse.

And his ears were long and lost,
too crooked for a horse.
Weeping, weeping, hee haw,
too crooked for a horse.

'Cause a donkey's not a horse,
Even though I loved him most.
Weeping, weeping, hee haw,
a donkey's not a horse.