Dartmoor's joy

From Dartmoor where the Tors stand free
To Shetland Isles in stormy breeze.
I roam for miles and sometimes gallop,
Save the stiles and clippity clop.

I'm little but I'm hardly brittle,
I'm a little hardy and in fine fettle.
In fact I'd say I show my mettle,
When it's cold on the moors I need no kettle.

I'm dainty from hoof to mane,
I'm playful and never hard to tame.
I'm the pride and joy of many a dame,
The silver lining through clouds and rain.

I may be small, up to Shire horse knee,
But when I roam in the moors I'm free.
I gladly fill your life with glee,
I'm cute, I'm hardy, I'm called...  Pony!