A Dog Called Trump Poem by Allan James Saywell
A Dog Called Trump
Henry the dog has to go
Whats wrong now Martha
You keep the dog
Under our bed
Well he loves it, under there Martha
He snores and blows gas all night
Are you sure you got the right culprit, Martha
He rubs his head on the bottom of the bed
He is losing his hair
On the top of his head
Well comb it down, like you know who
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
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4/26/2024 1:19:11 PM # 1.0.0.1119
