Ears Ha Keeps
My master’s eyes are wolf-like not at all.
A chihuahua’s fangs are larger than his are.
His voice has not the lust of a hound’s call.
He’s slow of foot, can’t lope nearly as far.
His body’s largely hairless, and his skin
Is lick-able, but bite-able it’s not.
I often lick him on the nose or chin,
Yet he won’t lick me back. He’s deep in thought
Much of the time. He doesn’t play enough,
Though he must know I love to romp and play!
And when he does he’s not as rough and tough
As I’d prefer (he’s far too fine). But hey,
He drops such toothsome fare into my bowl,
And twice a day he takes me for a stroll.
Bro Frets Tor
Whose house I’m in? Well, it’s my friend’s,
Who’s now at work where a pick tends
To patients’ teeth. She will not see
Me sitting here with pad and pens.
I can’t get out the door (poor me)
Because I do not have a key,
And cannot leave with the door open.
I feel like a skiff adrift at sea.
I just was in the shower soapin’
Myself, but now I sit here hopin’
That soon my friend will come back here—
For all I’m doing now is mopin’.
Her house is lovely, full of cheer.
But I have to go out for beer,
And hours to go before she’s near,
And hours to go before she’s near.
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Threaded Mode
