Toto is old and his joints are complaining.
He loves nothing more than a nap.
A walk? Not a chance. He’ll be hiding or playing
dead. Don’t remind him - he’ll snap.
Show him red shoes and he’ll bark with a stutter.
Things made of bricks? Even worse.
Bells go ding dong and his mind melts like butter.
Brooms are the ultimate curse.
Emerald City? No place for a terrier.
Scarecrows and lions? The fewer the merrier.
Giant balloons are disturbingly loud.
Been there and done that. A dog is allowed
to sleep by the fire as much as he wants.
Cancel adventure, forget magic wands.
Toto curls up in his basket and twitches
dreaming of woodmen that turn into witches,
whimpering softly, a tired old mutt.
Clouds in the sky are the colour of mud.
To-to-tornado approaching…
Cut.
Toto
© Copyright: Людмила Прасад, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121030104931
Свидетельство о публикации №121030104931
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