When weather turns colder and ponies attempt
To bundle up snug without looking unkempt,
Then Rarity’s tape measure coils ’round each friend
And hemlines grow low as she toils to no end.
Her customers stay for a chat or a song;
They help her stock smocks or talk frocks all day long.
With flickering flame in her hearth and her heart,
The wonderful lengths of the cloth frame her art.
But after the winter’s warm fashion concludes,
Exquisite designs are done lifting their moods,
Gone back to their hangers behind closet doors:
The elegant trains that once draped over floors.
Alas, when the calendar’s reached early May,
The hems keep on rising and then go away.
The opposite’s true of poor Rarity’s frown—
With skirts coming up, it gets weighed further down.
Such lovely light clothing could fill up her store,
But sadly, her friends will be naked once more.