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// Entrances (Bridle Gossip) 
// Story: Friendship is Poetry 
// by Loganberry 
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That morn came Twilight with her dragon friend
To Ponyville, and finding it bereft
Of life or movement, wondered she aloud:
What was the cause of this: what could it be?
A whisper came from Pinkie Pie: "Inside!"
The other ponies there, with Apple Bloom.
Sang Pinkie: "Lo! Evil enchantress she!"
As through the pane the cloakèd one they saw.

The purple unicorn, she merely scoffed:
"Zecora? Zebra, from so far away!"
But still the others there were not convinced,
All save the filly, fine big pony she.
To Everfree! There came they by and by,
And warned they were about the leaves of blue.
Quoth Twilight Sparkle, "Curses don't exist!"
The other ponies diff'rently believed.

Back at the library, things took a turn
Quite for the worse, as all of them could see.
Afflicted were they all, save Fluttershy,
Who seemed quite normal till a word she spoke.
As Twilight searched within her magic books,
One, "Supernaturals", she cast aside.
That volume thick could not contain the cure:
For shame! Why did that tome she yet possess?

By now, had stolen Apple Bloom away,
And all at once the other mares were sore
Perplexed, and worried that they'd stood or sat
Upon the little filly: could it be?
But no: out of the unwatched door had slipped
The little sister of our Applejack.
Of course the ponies set off on their quest,
And in their time they reached the zebra's hut.

Now Twilight stood out still against her friends:
Spoke for the stranger; but on gazing through
A window, she espied the cooking pot:
"The perfect temp'rature": O woe, alack!
Persuaded of the witch's harsh designs
Upon the youngster, all resistance fell.
As Rainbow Crash and AJ splintered wood,
She charged the zebra, locking heads in rage.

Now waxed Zecora wroth, full angered she:
"You know not what you do!" A fight was on.
Then through the entrance trotted Apple Bloom!
It seemed that she was not to season stew.
The Poison Joke its final laugh enjoyed
As Twilight read at last what she had not.
So realised the mare that she had erred:
A book should by its contents be adjudged.