Do they name it puppy cause I follow you wagging?
From the tail for the tales you tell through your sighs,
I delight in your misery expressed cracked with teeth
bright on so simply between scathing bites of blistering.

For all the bones you picked and must've nicked one
from the pile of lies I hadn't chewed just to run
and feel you chase on my heels with a shout stolen
soaring about an aim of shades cast under your glory.

As I sit, I beg not just for treats or even the praise pats
but the hands on hips and that frown half commit'
to the scorn I've earned for being a scamp you can't
hate cause thoughtless I ingratiated myself by pranks.

Or the romp and the roll and the laughter so bold
it makes us scatter and soil jeans with grass stains
past bent limbs and knees scraped in the breeze
we set free by running wild over every rusted gate.

But they name it simple and sad to infantile our glad
thinking it's wisdom to hold bad and express no
remorse for their course of life, for their discourse
is a green scream envious of all those times past.

They forget the dogs with gray muzzles
still know how to run, bark, and laugh.