A Dog on a Rock
I saw a dog sitting on a rock one day,
The scrawniest dog in the world, I say,
Sitting on a rock under a hot sun,
Ever so hot and beginning to burn.
The dog had the mange or so I did think,
I could see its skin; it was ever so pink,
Hot in the sun, roasting for sure,
That dog on a rock must have been sore.
I wandered across to the dog on the rock,
And offered a drink from my bottle of pop,
Baring its teeth, the dog snarled and it growled,
So I beat a retreat as it started to howl.
Leaving dog on the rock to sit there and stew,
I thought of my skin that it threatened to chew,
Then strolling away with a skip and a grin,
I abandoned the dog with the mangy old skin.