Forest Hounds

The night was black the valley foggy the hound was back now running groggy he had been kicked by size 10 boots his pride was nicked because his roots had been confused by all his friends the truth abused make no amends his gene pool crap God's own selection fat belly flab and lost direction. It was a hound who could not show his face by day as all would know to his dismay his horrid features and did he smell much worse than creatures straight out of hell. So why is God sometimes so cruel I find it odd that every fool was handiwork of God's creation one meets a jerk at the train station and wonders why these specimens so often cry when we drive Benz it is because they do have little and no applause is due for spittle. So is it fair to just withhold a decent share well, it be told it's programmed hate from wolfish roots a sorry state and in cahoots with Nature's failings in the jungle you hear the wailings and see the bungle. The hound keeps on and scares the weeds that's why the sun does her good deeds in daytime, not at night how could you stand to function right if those hounds and perhaps some others were roaming there all with their mothers who couldn't care..