“Shoo!” they say to me all day,
As I wander, unwanted and alone,
Down lonely streets, looking for meat,
And a dry place to call my home.
Among the two-legs, I scavenge their dregs
My ribs bruised by their kicks,
While snobby Maltese snub my maladies:
Rabid and half consumed by ticks.
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Poet's Corner 