by David Blais
There once was a poodle named Sir Francis of Crotchford.
And he sadly was taken by the dear lord.
I never once let him out of my sight,
until one time that frightful night.
leanning against a window screen
he fell without a single scream.
later that night when i went out to dine,
i figured that Francis would be just fine.
its going to be a blind date i thought with delight
but then turned the corner and had such a fright.
Francis lay there, still as a toad,
in a pool of blood there near the road.
i rocked him in my arms
figuring it would leave no more harm,
i was wrong and he was not strong
hes head loll back and pinched his spine
Its all my fault that hes no longer mine.