Pup

Some idiot flicked off my switch, now I'm lit to cold eyes of blinded this doggie with the waggly tail, at least a best friend as I sail. What's a dateline to what's fine, how every blinded sees with wine and how they dine in my eyes and the lies upon my father dies. I wish, I had more to give, than once this child's wishes, to never be forgotten in time and better flow and the rhyme. I'll rather be a straight line than how I'm the wobbling. Be here as time crumbles, empty as a stomach rumble. There's never anything more, than the poison of a garden bore.