A horse is a horse unless, of course, it's a Charly horse.

Charly's horse eased into the Labyrinth Saloon.
After several drinks, Charly wobbled and swooned,
with legs asleep; he didn't have a leg to stand on.
His horse was a pain--always kicking, no fun;
really cramping Charly's style mile after mile.
Charly despised that cramp clamped upon his leg . . .
sometimes he left the horse aside, laying around.
Charly would ease out, the horse would leap, bound.
It loved leaping person-to-person in each town.
The marshall said, "Mount that horse and ride.
We don't want the likes of 'him' astride."

When little Susy woke with a horse in her throat,
Charly had to go and pull that dang thang, his bloke.
Susy nearly choked an croaked on that old grey mare.
Even when he was 'out' she was spitting up hair.
The authorites wanted Charly in jail
but little Susy broke her bank and posted bail.
Luckily the marshall got butterflies inside
that spun a cocoon in the ancient man's back side.
From his bed, the marshall said, "Tell Charly to ride."
The horse grasped Charly's leg. Off the strolled--
the man trod slow with his heavy load.

At the next Saloon, Charly gave his horse away.
"He's too much for me, this grey mare is yours to stay."
The barkeep barely nodded, then Charly ran.
Homesick for Charly, the horse loosed the barkeeps' leg.

If you find him, lose him, he's not fit to ride!