Walking back with burritos
We come upon the greenest grass
Summer-cut, in the shade of a tree,
Not about to let it pass
My Labrador stops to sniff
And finds intoxication
In some sort of earthy whiff
A squirrel’s smell, a hare,
And she starts rolling in it
Dog ecstasy in the August air...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment