The
song of wetted dog hair
Purveys
the nasal’s nymph
A
tone grown to know, a reoccurring
Fragrancy
of hymnal sewn, here
Where,
when, they burst the room
With
limited caution, only feeling,
As
if they’re recent victory over
Mother
nature, had certainly earned
Them
a treat. Which, of course, they
Always
get….how could I pass on those
Eyes,
even with that song playing noisily
All
about. But first, they must be patient
For
the floor was just done, and toweling
Has
yet begun.
