Mongrel, they shot you with Pellets that pulped your heart And tufts of your fur flew up Into the early morning light. Our kibbutz had too many hounds That year and not enough cats to Catch the mice.
Mongrel, they shot you with
Pellets that pulped your heart
And tufts of your fur flew up
Into the early morning light.
Our kibbutz had too many hounds
That year and not enough cats to
Catch the mice.
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© Copyright 1998 by Philip Hyams. Send comments to jfm.baharna@gmail.com.