Doggy Breath
No harbinger of tact was he
And as a matter of fact you'll see
One spewing forth only filth and bile
A mongrel dog with a crooked smile
Nor lover of man or saintly ways
A cur so foul for all of his days
But in the end life doth defeat
Soon the harbinger of death he'll meet
Copyright © Randy Freie | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment