A kept man, he's a mess, but no matter.
He's had a good life. Been to South Beach. Texas.
Glutted on table scraps, never had fleas,
Never was cold, had all his shots, has an elevator,
Central air. Watches TV on his own special bed-
He's even had a turn with the b-tches
And recently became a grandfather. What more
Can you ask for? Peticare?
The car stops. The door opens, we get out,
'Bye, James, ' I say, rifling through the mail.
'See you later, Teddy....I hope.'
Teddy, Teddy, forever holding his peace,
Who, knowing his floor, struggles bravely off, and snorts,
Wanly wagging his tail, as if to say 'Eh, bien, oui,
This too shall pass.' and again he's home-
The little, deaf dog who also has arthritis,
So content, he doesn't even know he's old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Alright then, move on to the inflatable.