Hobbo's Poems
A quirky look at life from a Yorkshire poet and his dog's perspective
Beware of social climbers
Beware of social climbers
Daisy was the sort of duck
Who didn't give a pheasant's pluck
For anything except herself.
Her fresh laid eggs were help yourself.
To reach the top, she'd climb your back,
Insist on having, the last quack.
Preen herself in any quarter,
Using mirrors on the water.
Till that day, when she was smitten,
By a loudmouth, booming Bittern.
Was this love reciprocated?
Nope. He killed her, once he'd mated.
Haha great ending!
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Thanks Vinny!
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LOL! Complete quackers!
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That’s me and Dauphy! I feel pressured into upping my game now that you’ve started following me. Thanks!
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Oh my! Brutal bitterns and derring-do ducks! This is a cautionary tale indeed!
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Learned from bittern experience!
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Good pun but potentially tragic history!!
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She couldn’t duck out you see!
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