My dog wants my seat. Always.
I cannot get a snack to eat.
If I move, I’ll lose my seat.
I have a bit of deadly gloom,
Why does a dog need so much room?
What is it with this magic chair?
He knows that I always sit there.
I’m sure that dogs must mean no harm,
Perhaps they find a used seat warm.
At last, I must admit defeat.
I will never have a snack to eat.
Author: Blind John Ellsworth
Blind John Ellsworth (1960- ), a (questionable) poet and sometimes Texas bluesman. He has recorded one spoken-word album (thankfully unreleased), since he is still trying to learn to play guitar. (Lack of musical skills is what makes him a poet and not a lyricist. Plus, he can’t write music.)
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