Forest Hounds

Poem By Herbert Nehrlich

The night was black
the valley foggy
the hound was back
now running groggy
he had been kicked
by size 10 boots
his pride was nicked
because his roots
had been confused
by all his friends
the truth abused
make no amends
his gene pool crap
God's own selection
fat belly flab
and lost direction.
It was a hound
who could not show
his face by day
as all would know
to his dismay
his horrid features
and did he smell
much worse than creatures
straight out of hell.
So why is God
sometimes so cruel
I find it odd
that every fool
was handiwork
of God's creation
one meets a jerk
at the train station
and wonders why
these specimens
so often cry
when we drive Benz
it is because
they do have little
and no applause
is due for spittle.
So is it fair
to just withhold
a decent share
well, it be told
it's programmed hate
from wolfish roots
a sorry state
and in cahoots
with Nature's failings
in the jungle
you hear the wailings
and see the bungle.
The hound keeps on
and scares the weeds
that's why the sun
does her good deeds
in daytime, not at night
how could you stand
to function right
if those hounds and
perhaps some others
were roaming there
all with their mothers
who couldn't care..

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