Saturday, June 5, 2010


In their backyard was a doghouse.
Farley spent hours there alone,
Anticipating when Old Brown
Returned his master home.

His doghouse was a prison,
Guarded by a leash of leather,
Farley lived with desperate hope
He’d be released soon from his tether.

Farley pined so in the doghouse,
He’d memorized every board;
Waiting to see his master,
In Old Brown, the one-eyed Ford.

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