LuLu
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a Lu.
A LuLu whose hungry mouth prest
Against the round and sweet flying best;
A LuLu who looks at balls all day,
And lifts her strong paws to play;
A LuLu that may in Summer wear
A nest of seashells in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow and frisbee has lain;
Who intimately lives with raincoat with no shame.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a LuLu.
I miss my LuLu and she was,
with no doubt, my Tree.
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