It was a sad day when we went to war:
The pugs wore cantaloupes, whilst we, alas,
Wore ugli fruit: such hardships came to pass
That whiskers drooped — a thing we all abhor.
Each dog was monstrous as a minotaur.
Our battle lasted long. The mob, en masse,
All rolled in fluffy fathoms, a morass
Of grimy fur, … and Persians filth abhor.
I never thought that this would come to pass:
That my bright white and tufted ears would mourn
More listless than a Scottish Fold cat’s does;
Or that such hatred slowly would amass.
I long for peace: when days were not forlorn:
When peaceful pets serenely licked their fuzz.
Copyright 2011, © Anissa Nedzel Gage, All rights reserved
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