Skippy’s been gone again
And it’s no problem for me
Discerning where he’s been:
Down by Glenwood Creek—
His favorite spot to forage
And roll in dead fish—and reek!
But he’s home again
And sometimes I still see him
Wiggling and spreading it all over me—
That rotting smell.
How I wish I could hug him and give him his bath—
Putrid odor and all.
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