Just a short little poem that I wrote many years ago. I keep saying that I don't like poetry, and then keep using it anyways, hmmm... maybe I do like it.
When finished with a bone
A dog whishes no one to be shown,
So it is, that the bone be buried
Into a deep, dark, dank hole it is hurried
No one again will upon the bone gaze,
To the dog the bone is but a haze,
Still the bone hath existed.
Have you the help of holes enlisted?