The battle gets down to a tug of war,
I can't believe the power of his paws;
'Hey Max, slow down, this is no running race,
Please, can we try a nice walking pace? '
There's just no rhyme nor reason to abase,
He's quite happy to pull and give him chase.
'My arm won't stretch out very much longer,
You're also hurting my poor shoulder.'
It's only when returning to the entrance gate,
My Max begins to ease that ache.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem