Tobie was a catcher,
a catcher in the rye;
he’d catch the ball I threw for him
no matter how far or high.
I miss my little catcher,
his cuddles and his ways;
but that pooch did live his best life
in the most mysterious ways.
By the Book (sic)
By the Book (sic)
Recent Comments
Riverside Peace on dy’Meurth Haiku Words from a Lentil… on dy’Meurth Haiku Words from a Lentil… on The sky above me Riverside Peace on dy’Meurth Haiku Words from a Lentil… on dy’Meurth Haiku
Graeme Sandford 