Poem By ivor or ivor.e hogg
Our little dog is very old.
She’s rather deaf and almost blind
and if the honest truth were told
You might think my words unkind.
She often has an accident
The reason isn’t hard to find,
she’s senile and incontinent
She has but one thought in her mind
She hasn’t lost her appetite
The only pleasure left to her
she hunts by scent and not by sight
for any food that’s on offer.
We never know where we will find
some souvenir she’s left behind.
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Our little Yorkshire Terrier Threepence is fourteen years old