The Hunt

Nancy has the meanest dog;

they tell me he broke free,

and that the rotten flea-bag

is hunting now for me.

You see, I am the paper-boy

who tries to do his best,

but it really isn’t my fault

that rotten dog’s obsessed.

I must deliver papers

before the hour of eight,

and when I get to Nancy’s,

I see the dog I hate.

He barks and growls hysterically

the whole time I am there.

His leash is my salvation,

but he gives me quite a scare.

So I quickly throw the paper,

cause I know he wants me dead,

but it really isn’t my fault,

it keeps landing on his head.

This is the first poem I posted on this blog, and since few people have read it, and it is one of my favourite poems, I decided to repost it.