Pon had a pocket owl
Who lived him like a tree,
With every hoot you’d hear a howl
For they were two of three.

An arctic wolf had gained
A pocket home as well,
And ran the woods of Ponny’s brain
As clapper to his bell.

Once Pon saw some hoof prints
From a pot-bellied boar
That trampled ‘cross his mighty shins
Which brings us up to four.

Then Pon found a pond
In pockets deep and wide
With turtles, otters, frogs and swans
Along for Ponny’s ride.

How can I be more clear
On clothing given me?
The moral of the story here –
More pockets! All agree.