Only Moppet can Make Mud Sweet
As the snow melts away,
showing the mud under the brown grass,
I feel the spring breeze cooling my face off,
as the hot sun dwells over me.
In the back yard with Moppet,
I can see how long the grass is,
as he trudges through,
looking as if he’s on a mission.
Moppet Rolls around in the muddy spots in the yard.
Why he does this, I cannot fathom.
I pick up the small, muddy dog,
laughing as I do so,
For his obliviousness of a bath in the future was very amusing.
Moppet Squirms in a playful sort of way.
as I am holding him,
he thinks I’m playing,
when really, I am trying to brush the black mud off of him.
I finally lose my grip.
Both Moppet and I tumble down into the mud.
I surrender to the animal.
There’s no point in trying to clean him,
now that I’m equally messy.
Moppet Lays down Beside me,
he buries his little face into his paws,
as if he were completely innocent in this entire situation.
He rolls onto his back in “belly rub” position.
I refuse.
He crawls over, whining in a sorry fashion.
He rests his head on my muddy stomach,
and looks at me with his tiny, black eyes,
as if he was meant to be there.
