Colton, a puppy, but just a wee bit bigger,

Fifty pounds of muscle, full of love and vigor,

He hops on you, and he gives you a chomp,

It is not malice, 'tis just a wee romp,

'til the arm is turned purple, green, yellow and black.

Then it is roughhouse, and he must sit back.

He was taught to sit down, and to act with respect,

His behavior was an art, a piece to perfect.

One day a man saw, and admired his gait.

It was his true destiny, adoption his fate.


This poem is about: 
My community
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: