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Patty had a puppy; it was white with big brown spots.
They weren’t shaped like circles, or tiny polka dots.
He had patches on his tail and some upon his ears.
He would have them all his life; Patty hoped for many
years.
Patty named her puppy, Joe, because she liked that
name.
All her friends were calling their pets names the
very same.
Joe barked when he saw a cat run down the street,
And tried his hardest to catch it, but alas, he had
small feet.
He couldn’t reach the butterflies that fluttered near
the flowers,
Even though he tried and tried and tried for many
hours.
Joe couldn’t even chase the squirrel up a tree.
Patty laughed each time he tried. It was a sight to
see.
Joe couldn’t do many things, but there was one thing
he did best.
He cuddled at night with Patty, when they both needed
a rest.
She’d scratch his ears; he’d wag his tail; they were
the best of friends.
He’d grow up soon enough, she knew, for now, this poem
ends. |
