Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.144.252.203

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

I am puffed up. I am proud. My nose is cold.
Maybe the coldest in the competition.
I am healthy, and I am ready. Put me in coach.
I am Champ, the number one dog in the country in this category.

I am reigning champion. I have won the gold three years in a row.
Warning myself now, it is okay to be puffed up in the mirror.
But during the competition, try to look humble. Try to act normal.
Try to be just an ordinary dog. 
This is the problem with hero sports dogs.

We have a tendency to pull out all the stops and show our superiority too soon.
We have those beautiful glowing eyes, and that sweet walk. 
We have that look.
Many humans, especially the neonates 
under six-years-old know we are part of
The super-galactic sports dog brigade. 
There are only six of us in the world.

And yet, they know. Because of their youth. 
It is impossible to get past them.
We leap higher, we jump higher, we dig faster, 
we twist them into our minions quickly.
I have been trying to shake six neonates since breakfast, 
but it is like I am the Pied Piper.
They are following me all over, begging to know my talent. 

I do not tell them. 
For they can see me in action soon, and they will be enthralled.
“Men, are we almost ready?” 
My pit crew gives me the thumbs up.
I get into my souped up car with the special handles to drive with paws and rev my engine.
Race Car Dog, the winner of the cup three years running! Can I do four? Sure I can!

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required