Part II: Dog of Destiny
Sing of dog from unknown parents,
Raised by mystic human species
Takes the ways of his adopter,
Even eats with fork of plastic.
Begs for scraps of roasted chicken,
how he craves that roasted chicken,
never knowing the betrayal
Of his dear farm-time companions.
Sing of dog so anxious skittish,
How he fasts when he's left unwatched,
How he rolls upon his belly,
Bares the tufts of goat-gruff belly,
To all passers-by submissive.
Ye who love the beasts of Nature,
Love the creatures' happy panting,
Love the eyes pleading for petting,
Wagging tail makes body wormish.
Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple,
Who have faith in beasts of Nature,
Know each furry, fluffy bosom
Contains longings, yearnings, strivings.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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