"corgi" poems - Hello Poetry

"corgi" poems

driving south to see trees in bloom after a night of sleeping in the snow & letting the hail beat up your face, i can imagine is like seeing color for the first time. i am the new wick of a candle-- turned on by spring sun, hot, the light shows the beauty in strangers like red-haired, shirtless Steven whose eyes graced me with the radiance of sunlit olive, a shade i have never dreamed before: gold & green globs twist in circles in his irises, like magic no wonder warm blood of new loves is harvested in this season. at the pink rock on the parkway, i saw a collared corgi get lost, enamored with strangers. cannabis clouds coagulate the air to power young hikers. i spy front seat fever in the car next to mine, heads disappear into the laps of their lovers. for me, it is these woods, the nurturing ways of the willows, the numbing wind of unspoiled silence by the glasshouse over the lake. the bloom of new cycles in the ancient-- what was always there, like lovers that are always within, part of you. dogwoods crack open to let us come together in a forested space where all trails lead to treehouses. this is my spring love, this is bliss.

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Mar 16, 2014

Mar 16, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC

melanie-r-holmes

driving south to see trees in bloom after a night of sleeping in the snow & letting the hail beat up your face, i can imagine is like seeing color for the first time. i am the new wick of a candle-- turned on by spring sun, hot, the light shows the beauty in strangers like red-haired, shirtless Steven whose eyes graced me with the radiance of sunlit olive, a shade i have never dreamed before: gold & green globs twist in circles in his irises, like magic no wonder warm blood of new loves is harvested in this season. at the pink rock on the parkway, i saw a collared corgi get lost, enamored with strangers. cannabis clouds coagulate the air to power young hikers. i spy front seat fever in the car next to mine, heads disappear into the laps of their lovers. for me, it is these woods, the nurturing ways of the willows, the numbing wind of unspoiled silence by the glasshouse over the lake. the bloom of new cycles in the ancient-- what was always there, like lovers that are always within, part of you. dogwoods crack open to let us come together in a forested space where all trails lead to treehouses. this is my spring love, this is bliss.

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we lay in bed and tell each other which forests we want to carve our names into, which branches we hope to knock down, or grow into, which places we want to make our own money, our own homes, and our own. I tell you I don’t know - you tell me you don’t know - we go on to tell each other all of the things we think might be the things we know. I trust you. and I have to trust that you trust me to do the things we lay out on maps. to follow and veer, and when the engine stalls, to let go. I told him, “We’ll have a corgi and a husky” and you told me, “Plan A is to become an astronaut” and I tell them over and over thank you for letting me stay the night.

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May 8, 2017

May 8, 2017 at 12:22 AM UTC

corgi & a husky

we lay in bed and tell each other which forests we want to carve our names into, which branches we hope to knock down, or grow into, which places we want to make our own money, our own homes, and our own. I tell you I don’t know - you tell me you don’t know - we go on to tell each other all of the things we think might be the things we know. I trust you. and I have to trust that you trust me to do the things we lay out on maps. to follow and veer, and when the engine stalls, to let go. I told him, “We’ll have a corgi and a husky” and you told me, “Plan A is to become an astronaut” and I tell them over and over thank you for letting me stay the night.

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Shivering fingers, cradling a cold clay bowl with dull roses surrounding the rim. A Klondike bar cut like a grid on a paper towel. My grandma used to let me eat one in the living room "careful of the carpet" on her yellow couches covered with sticky plastic. She would play the Elvis Presley Christmas album, To Ginny written in black sharpie on the sleeve with a Love always, Mom underneath, over and over again while she hung bulbs of wood on the bottom branches so her Welsh Corgi wouldn't break them with his paws. Slate slabs with handprints in purple paint every year for the holiday. She'd set death aside in a coffin ashtray to kiss my cheek. Presley played in the background. She'd rock on the front porch in white wicker coughing into the lid of a Pepsi can until she'd catch me pressing my nose against the door glass, tell me to turn around and sit on the couch. It was too cold for me. She'd only be a minute. When we played, I'd hide between the two baskets in the closet that held her hair products. I could count all the bottles three times each before she'd say she was too tired, put on her coat, grab a white box, and hit play. I always hated that album.

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Oct 29, 2013

Oct 29, 2013 at 5:56 PM UTC

Shivering fingers, cradling a cold clay bowl with dull roses surrounding the rim. A Klondike bar cut like a grid on a paper towel. My grandma used to let me eat one in the living room "careful of the carpet" on her yellow couches covered with sticky plastic. She would play the Elvis Presley Christmas album, To Ginny written in black sharpie on the sleeve with a Love always, Mom underneath, over and over again while she hung bulbs of wood on the bottom branches so her Welsh Corgi wouldn't break them with his paws. Slate slabs with handprints in purple paint every year for the holiday. She'd set death aside in a coffin ashtray to kiss my cheek. Presley played in the background. She'd rock on the front porch in white wicker coughing into the lid of a Pepsi can until she'd catch me pressing my nose against the door glass, tell me to turn around and sit on the couch. It was too cold for me. She'd only be a minute. When we played, I'd hide between the two baskets in the closet that held her hair products. I could count all the bottles three times each before she'd say she was too tired, put on her coat, grab a white box, and hit play. I always hated that album.

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Corgi, walking man, stopped where I sat. Climbed onto me, and sat in my laps. Man apologised, but corgi unmoved. Only after enough scratches, and a goodbye, did it resumed walking the man.

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Jun 3, 2019

Jun 3, 2019 at 11:41 AM UTC

Corgi, walking man, stopped where I sat. Climbed onto me, and sat in my laps. Man apologised, but corgi unmoved. Only after enough scratches, and a goodbye, did it resumed walking the man.

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struck by lightning twice by twenty-four this astronomical record was hers, Guinness proclaimed, this lady so famed, top of her class at Stanford, then Yale Med, and blissfully wed, to a surgeon who always came in second this did not matter at Cabo, or even in their first condo but as her curriculum vitae grew faster than a Walmart receipt on Black Friday, he scrubbed up for one bloodletting after another, removing appendixes, and appendages, feeling her shadow grow heavy, even in the bright lights of his operating theater his first was, of course, a nurse, though at least her age his second, a decade newer model, fixed his lattes at Starbucks number three was the neighbor with whom they shared nothing but a fence, and a few awkward stares her hours in the lab with petri dishes grew, and she never let on she knew, that her clean shaven number two was lying with others to stand himself when he asked for a divorce--number four requiring more than liquid exchanges in sweet hotel suites--she acquiesced and even let him have the Welsh Corgi, the cabin in Aspen, and half the 401K to this day, she recalls imagining his liaisons while she married menacing molecules to one another in tubes under faithful light, seeking answers to questions asked by the dying she would never meet a lump would only grow in her throat if she thought his scalpel never sliced the heart of number four, for five

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Jan 26, 2015

Jan 26, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC

seeking a cure for cancer while contemplating the virtues of infidelity

struck by lightning twice by twenty-four this astronomical record was hers, Guinness proclaimed, this lady so famed, top of her class at Stanford, then Yale Med, and blissfully wed, to a surgeon who always came in second this did not matter at Cabo, or even in their first condo but as her curriculum vitae grew faster than a Walmart receipt on Black Friday, he scrubbed up for one bloodletting after another, removing appendixes, and appendages, feeling her shadow grow heavy, even in the bright lights of his operating theater his first was, of course, a nurse, though at least her age his second, a decade newer model, fixed his lattes at Starbucks number three was the neighbor with whom they shared nothing but a fence, and a few awkward stares her hours in the lab with petri dishes grew, and she never let on she knew, that her clean shaven number two was lying with others to stand himself when he asked for a divorce--number four requiring more than liquid exchanges in sweet hotel suites--she acquiesced and even let him have the Welsh Corgi, the cabin in Aspen, and half the 401K to this day, she recalls imagining his liaisons while she married menacing molecules to one another in tubes under faithful light, seeking answers to questions asked by the dying she would never meet a lump would only grow in her throat if she thought his scalpel never sliced the heart of number four, for five

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tiger, he was, could not honestly, tell you the breed... he was a mispent afternoon's produce.... but by the stock of his body and the smile on his face some one's prize corgi, was now in disgrace... allways a smile and a little yip-yap... he was my childhood, of running and jumping, just because, we could. the picking of blackberries, the finding of mushrooms, wandering along creeks and afternoon naps, with his soft furriness, under my palm.... mottled through, ginger and blue, with an under-carriage, supposedly white, but more often muddy or dustily brown.... a co-conspirator of the highest degree.... would sit under the table and eat pumpkin for me. but not the beans.... they made him smell... his tongue so long and pink, his ears ***** and mobile, tail was docked, but his *** it did wag, with such a unique style. he was my childhood, but then, he was gone... off to chase rabbits up on the farm... good boy tiger....good boy you where my protector with you i came to no harm...

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Nov 29, 2014

Nov 29, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC

tiger(challenge # 2)

tiger, he was, could not honestly, tell you the breed... he was a mispent afternoon's produce.... but by the stock of his body and the smile on his face some one's prize corgi, was now in disgrace... allways a smile and a little yip-yap... he was my childhood, of running and jumping, just because, we could. the picking of blackberries, the finding of mushrooms, wandering along creeks and afternoon naps, with his soft furriness, under my palm.... mottled through, ginger and blue, with an under-carriage, supposedly white, but more often muddy or dustily brown.... a co-conspirator of the highest degree.... would sit under the table and eat pumpkin for me. but not the beans.... they made him smell... his tongue so long and pink, his ears ***** and mobile, tail was docked, but his *** it did wag, with such a unique style. he was my childhood, but then, he was gone... off to chase rabbits up on the farm... good boy tiger....good boy you where my protector with you i came to no harm...

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I wish you would love me as much as your Corgi, I promise I too would give you unconditional love and make your life whole.

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Feb 24, 2019

Feb 24, 2019 at 4:00 PM UTC

salmabanu-hatim

Like Your Corgi (Dog)

I wish you would love me as much as your Corgi, I promise I too would give you unconditional love and make your life whole.

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Plastic pistols, cowboy hats action men, palitoy combat Hotspur, Tiger and Hurricane leather footballs, broken panes Matchbox, Corgi, Airfix, Meccano Stickle Bricks, and (only) red and white Lego Triang scooters, Raleigh Choppers Dunlop plimsolls, orange space-hoppers Down the park’s obstacle course Witches Hat, iron rocking horse Bumps and scrapes, grazes and cuts rub it all better, just-get-back-up Home before dark, in time for tea Billy and Ian, my sisters and me

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Dec 13, 2021

Dec 13, 2021 at 2:26 PM UTC

Plastic pistols, cowboy hats action men, palitoy combat Hotspur, Tiger and Hurricane leather footballs, broken panes Matchbox, Corgi, Airfix, Meccano Stickle Bricks, and (only) red and white Lego Triang scooters, Raleigh Choppers Dunlop plimsolls, orange space-hoppers Down the park’s obstacle course Witches Hat, iron rocking horse Bumps and scrapes, grazes and cuts rub it all better, just-get-back-up Home before dark, in time for tea Billy and Ian, my sisters and me

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From the minute we met, Her smile, sharp eyes, and freckles, Her kindness, joy, and ferocity, Her story and her corgi, radar, They got to me. My heart ached for her in the third grade. From the minute we talked, Her power, courage, and confidence Her strength, individuality, and warm persona They got to me. My knees went weak every time I talked to her. From the minute I gained the courage, She was taken, loving, and busy She was happy, occupied, and content That got to me. My confidence flew south for winter. From the minute we graduated high school last year, We haven't talked, hung out, chilled, We haven't seen, spoken to, or heard from each other. That got to me. I never had the courage to gain her love, Now she's off to a new grade of her own.

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Nov 8, 2014

Nov 8, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC

Never had the courage

From the minute we met, Her smile, sharp eyes, and freckles, Her kindness, joy, and ferocity, Her story and her corgi, radar, They got to me. My heart ached for her in the third grade. From the minute we talked, Her power, courage, and confidence Her strength, individuality, and warm persona They got to me. My knees went weak every time I talked to her. From the minute I gained the courage, She was taken, loving, and busy She was happy, occupied, and content That got to me. My confidence flew south for winter. From the minute we graduated high school last year, We haven't talked, hung out, chilled, We haven't seen, spoken to, or heard from each other. That got to me. I never had the courage to gain her love, Now she's off to a new grade of her own.

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Now here’s the crazy thing about mental illnesses and poetry. A pen can be a knife and well, Vice versa. Maybe you’d seen me scribbling nonsense on my notes; Where I should be taking notes instead, mind you. Believe me, in my mind I’d have killed everyone in the room, Maybe including you, Three times at least By stabbing them in the eyes And of course, myself, in the end By the time I’d have finished the first line. My mind is a cat that can change its shape. Sometimes it’s a lazy Persian That wouldn’t get out of its bed And sometimes it’s a Corgi That just wouldn’t stop barking. You must now be thinking “But Corgi is a dog breed. Aren’t you supposed to be talking about cats?” Well, and I’m supposed to be out, Talking to people like everyone else Instead of complaining here, am I not? I wish my body was a high school So that I could report to the principal that My brain is relentlessly bullying My heart by making her pay for Everything that he lacks.

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May 2, 2018

May 2, 2018 at 1:52 AM UTC

Now here’s the crazy thing about mental illnesses and poetry. A pen can be a knife and well, Vice versa. Maybe you’d seen me scribbling nonsense on my notes; Where I should be taking notes instead, mind you. Believe me, in my mind I’d have killed everyone in the room, Maybe including you, Three times at least By stabbing them in the eyes And of course, myself, in the end By the time I’d have finished the first line. My mind is a cat that can change its shape. Sometimes it’s a lazy Persian That wouldn’t get out of its bed And sometimes it’s a Corgi That just wouldn’t stop barking. You must now be thinking “But Corgi is a dog breed. Aren’t you supposed to be talking about cats?” Well, and I’m supposed to be out, Talking to people like everyone else Instead of complaining here, am I not? I wish my body was a high school So that I could report to the principal that My brain is relentlessly bullying My heart by making her pay for Everything that he lacks.

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Do you see what I see? The love in your eyes when you smile Or the glimmer of joy when you laugh The way you daydream like it's your job And how you fidget with your hair Do you see what I see? The different smiles you have One for when you look at me Complete love and compassion One for all the corgi puppies in the world Joy and Happiness And one for everyone else Content and peace Do you see what I see? My future and hope Making you breakfast in bed And talking about the world Seeing our kids go off to school Just to come home again Do you see what I see? I see the love of my life Standing in front of me

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Oct 2, 2018

Oct 2, 2018 at 9:38 AM UTC

Do you see what I see?

Do you see what I see? The love in your eyes when you smile Or the glimmer of joy when you laugh The way you daydream like it's your job And how you fidget with your hair Do you see what I see? The different smiles you have One for when you look at me Complete love and compassion One for all the corgi puppies in the world Joy and Happiness And one for everyone else Content and peace Do you see what I see? My future and hope Making you breakfast in bed And talking about the world Seeing our kids go off to school Just to come home again Do you see what I see? I see the love of my life Standing in front of me

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Browsing, scrolling Shopping Consuming A Blue Guitar, A Corgi **** pillow.

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Oct 26, 2018

Oct 26, 2018 at 11:03 PM UTC

Blue Guitars and Corgi Butts

Browsing, scrolling Shopping Consuming A Blue Guitar, A Corgi **** pillow.

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there's this guy who thinks he knows more than me about the far-left than i do, even though i'm the one with a communist grandfather; which means he's gone as far as mao to replicate an answer that i might agree with alongside adolf. ah no worry... the queen's corgi(s) are here. they always do that, the left, as long as they can provide you with a house and pension, they have the upper hand in argument meaning you have to agree with them... what about colour says the right? ah don't worry... we'll just all wear gray and become radically different from the canvas. i love how the left asks to be agreed with in terms of politics, given no far-right politics was expressed... death of communism taught them they had to express far-left politics in such a way as might be a form of deviation and counter-intuitive expression of the middle ground... poor stalin... god please let me enter the mozart club of death at 35... i missed the modern club of 27... drinks on me... amy; i just hate the way the left opresses us now... it’s that thumb missing in terms of english law... you know that thumb... ex hominem ad exemplum non hominem... a lightbulb moment... because man never gave a nullifying example with each example of his existence given as non; man is curiously aware of his mortality, therefore he engages with dating things in order to orientate... of course... coins... deus ex **** although no solis ex **** that would never work... would it now? why would man need a sun if all man desires from the sigma expression of will is to not exist? can i enter the reference of will with a craft that deciphers water as two hydrogens and one oxygen? oh wait... i already have... three years of chemistry in edinburgh taught me pressurised concentration of carbon dioxide was termed fizzy.

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Dec 11, 2015

Dec 11, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

there's this guy who thinks he knows more than me about the far-left than i do, even though i'm the one with a communist grandfather; which means he's gone as far as mao to replicate an answer that i might agree with alongside adolf. ah no worry... the queen's corgi(s) are here. they always do that, the left, as long as they can provide you with a house and pension, they have the upper hand in argument meaning you have to agree with them... what about colour says the right? ah don't worry... we'll just all wear gray and become radically different from the canvas. i love how the left asks to be agreed with in terms of politics, given no far-right politics was expressed... death of communism taught them they had to express far-left politics in such a way as might be a form of deviation and counter-intuitive expression of the middle ground... poor stalin... god please let me enter the mozart club of death at 35... i missed the modern club of 27... drinks on me... amy; i just hate the way the left opresses us now... it’s that thumb missing in terms of english law... you know that thumb... ex hominem ad exemplum non hominem... a lightbulb moment... because man never gave a nullifying example with each example of his existence given as non; man is curiously aware of his mortality, therefore he engages with dating things in order to orientate... of course... coins... deus ex **** although no solis ex **** that would never work... would it now? why would man need a sun if all man desires from the sigma expression of will is to not exist? can i enter the reference of will with a craft that deciphers water as two hydrogens and one oxygen? oh wait... i already have... three years of chemistry in edinburgh taught me pressurised concentration of carbon dioxide was termed fizzy.

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Cassius Bartholomew, a dapper gentleman Oh, two-toned fuzzy suit, and smile so genuine Regarding his tough muscles, a good workout regimen Gracious with affection, his love is never tentative I greatly love that Cash, so I write these sentences Cassius is a cuddle monster who snuggles day or night Oh, that Cashboy is such a manly man despite his tiny height Ruggedly running through rolling hills, superlative delight Gusto! Cash's cry of joy when his name you cite I hope you understand by now, Cash's character's airtight Cassius is a Corgi, a big-eared loaf of bread from end to end Cashboy is the best of dogs He's truly man's best friend

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Feb 20, 2020

Feb 20, 2020 at 3:08 PM UTC

Cassius Bartholomew

Cassius Bartholomew, a dapper gentleman Oh, two-toned fuzzy suit, and smile so genuine Regarding his tough muscles, a good workout regimen Gracious with affection, his love is never tentative I greatly love that Cash, so I write these sentences Cassius is a cuddle monster who snuggles day or night Oh, that Cashboy is such a manly man despite his tiny height Ruggedly running through rolling hills, superlative delight Gusto! Cash's cry of joy when his name you cite I hope you understand by now, Cash's character's airtight Cassius is a Corgi, a big-eared loaf of bread from end to end Cashboy is the best of dogs He's truly man's best friend

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I wonder if you wag your tail when you see me. But , you have no tail. Just short stubby legs, and ears that are two times to big. But what else should I expect from a corgi ? I do wish you had a tail. Then you'd look like a fox. But, I love you anyway. My sweet little Kirbie.

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Sep 19, 2016

Sep 19, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC

robert-levandowski

I wonder if you wag your tail when you see me. But , you have no tail. Just short stubby legs, and ears that are two times to big. But what else should I expect from a corgi ? I do wish you had a tail. Then you'd look like a fox. But, I love you anyway. My sweet little Kirbie.

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Jungle bells are ringing out across the nation, Boris is to play Santa Claws this year, so, reinforce your stockings. Corbyn is going to be Scrooge in The Christmas Carol, hoping to cook Johnson's goose which he will share with the hungry. Arlene Foster will be filling the empty pies with minced words which are to be served in Bowler Hats avec blue berries. Sturgeon is going to Hog as Many votes as possible while the rest are gorging to the Pogues Fairytale of New York & London. The Lib-Dems have an anthem by Jo Swine Song about spit roasting a Pig in the stocks outside Downing St. Syndrome. The Greens are looking for this years largest Cucumber which they have decided to stuff. They have declined to say where. Cymru Plaid's have decided to make woollen scarves for the homeless Corgi's after the Queen is evicted from Buckingham Palace. Nigh Gel Farage is going to lubricate a Tusk and shove it up Barnier's (( in the presence of Jean Claude Coke Nose Junkier.

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Oct 30, 2019

Oct 30, 2019 at 6:48 AM UTC

12th Day of Brexmess

Jungle bells are ringing out across the nation, Boris is to play Santa Claws this year, so, reinforce your stockings. Corbyn is going to be Scrooge in The Christmas Carol, hoping to cook Johnson's goose which he will share with the hungry. Arlene Foster will be filling the empty pies with minced words which are to be served in Bowler Hats avec blue berries. Sturgeon is going to Hog as Many votes as possible while the rest are gorging to the Pogues Fairytale of New York & London. The Lib-Dems have an anthem by Jo Swine Song about spit roasting a Pig in the stocks outside Downing St. Syndrome. The Greens are looking for this years largest Cucumber which they have decided to stuff. They have declined to say where. Cymru Plaid's have decided to make woollen scarves for the homeless Corgi's after the Queen is evicted from Buckingham Palace. Nigh Gel Farage is going to lubricate a Tusk and shove it up Barnier's (( in the presence of Jean Claude Coke Nose Junkier.

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The difference between a Corgi and a Kilt is that one does not need to lift a Kilt to see if a Corgi's got *****

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Jan 24, 2021

Jan 24, 2021 at 8:43 AM UTC

The difference between a Corgi and a Kilt is that one does not need to lift a Kilt to see if a Corgi's got *****

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Eight little legs, big hearts to match, with ears that stand up proud, They rule my world with tiny paws and bark that’s always loud. Two black tri-colored kings at home, with crowns of fluff and charm— My corgi boys, my soul’s delight, my comfort and alarm. Romeo, the baby boy, a whirlwind on the floor, With zoomies in the morning light and sass I can’t ignore. He spins like storms with lightning feet, obnoxious as can be, But in his chaos lives a love that’s wild and fierce and free. Godrick, calm with wiser eyes, the older, patient knight, He watches all with quiet grace, his mind both sharp and bright. He’s gentle when the world feels loud, a grounding kind of peace, A steady soul who holds me close when all I need is ease. Together they are joy and light, a duo made just right— The thunderbolt and guiding star, the laughter and the light. They cuddle close, they steal my socks, they own the couch and bed, And every day I thank the stars for every kiss and shed. They’re not just pets, they’re heartbeats with tails that wag with glee, My Romeo and Godrick—my perfect family. They've filled my life with endless love, no words could quite express, My corgis are my everything—my chaos and my rest.

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Jul 19, 2025

Jul 19, 2025 at 5:10 PM UTC

My Corgi Duo, Heart and Soul

Eight little legs, big hearts to match, with ears that stand up proud, They rule my world with tiny paws and bark that’s always loud. Two black tri-colored kings at home, with crowns of fluff and charm— My corgi boys, my soul’s delight, my comfort and alarm. Romeo, the baby boy, a whirlwind on the floor, With zoomies in the morning light and sass I can’t ignore. He spins like storms with lightning feet, obnoxious as can be, But in his chaos lives a love that’s wild and fierce and free. Godrick, calm with wiser eyes, the older, patient knight, He watches all with quiet grace, his mind both sharp and bright. He’s gentle when the world feels loud, a grounding kind of peace, A steady soul who holds me close when all I need is ease. Together they are joy and light, a duo made just right— The thunderbolt and guiding star, the laughter and the light. They cuddle close, they steal my socks, they own the couch and bed, And every day I thank the stars for every kiss and shed. They’re not just pets, they’re heartbeats with tails that wag with glee, My Romeo and Godrick—my perfect family. They've filled my life with endless love, no words could quite express, My corgis are my everything—my chaos and my rest.

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Deep conversations we do enjoy Prospects in generous age the theme Between worries and joy Good coffee and cream Daily marching plan includes A Corgi who sends to to rest when the clock strikes hurry It's making its nest We do talk about leaving for the end of our time Probability for all Sweetheart tells me message sent I want to go first Couldn't bear to be without you No comment True love for so many years (c)near_lane7

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Nov 17, 2020

Nov 17, 2020 at 11:28 PM UTC

Deep conversations we do enjoy Prospects in generous age the theme Between worries and joy Good coffee and cream Daily marching plan includes A Corgi who sends to to rest when the clock strikes hurry It's making its nest We do talk about leaving for the end of our time Probability for all Sweetheart tells me message sent I want to go first Couldn't bear to be without you No comment True love for so many years (c)near_lane7

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for nearly two years he has filled in the place of others offering hugs and kisses to those who need them he lies still in times of chaos and peace observing the scenes unfold. he looks up with his dark, round eyes begging for attention. sometimes, i lie with him, glowing at other times, streams fall down my rosy cheeks and shaky lips onto his soft, golden fur. as i drift away into a slumber my arms hold him tight before dropping to my sides and letting him go. he bounces on the carpet landing on his side he waits through the night until dawn comes again.

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Dec 26, 2019

Dec 26, 2019 at 7:01 PM UTC

arthur the corgi

for nearly two years he has filled in the place of others offering hugs and kisses to those who need them he lies still in times of chaos and peace observing the scenes unfold. he looks up with his dark, round eyes begging for attention. sometimes, i lie with him, glowing at other times, streams fall down my rosy cheeks and shaky lips onto his soft, golden fur. as i drift away into a slumber my arms hold him tight before dropping to my sides and letting him go. he bounces on the carpet landing on his side he waits through the night until dawn comes again.

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The Scots neer wore a diaper, so the Welsh absorbed their leek- A Swansea song & Corgi Prince is all they have to speak. The w.a.s.p's have had their hay day, as they paddle up the creek. <> While Paddy’s watch with bated breath, the union jack to streak!

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Jul 28, 2018

Jul 28, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC

Ménage à trois.

The Scots neer wore a diaper, so the Welsh absorbed their leek- A Swansea song & Corgi Prince is all they have to speak. The w.a.s.p's have had their hay day, as they paddle up the creek. <> While Paddy’s watch with bated breath, the union jack to streak!

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