This wanderer named Bob, he kept his hair long and his scent especially musky.
Followed a man into a foul plan; in the end his straw was drawn short and dirty.
Dumped in the sun to wilt by such men that tend to be tougher than charmingly witty.
I plucked him from the sand and now he adorns my stalk and vines like a rose from a fine, royal garden.
The birds circle near to squawk and cheer at his beauty with obvious jealousy.
I know his skin will crisp and belly will burst but I’ll enjoy him as long as I’m able.
That’s the trouble with corpses, I think I’d much prefer the living to be honest; I’ve heard they can last so much longer.
Yes, next time I’ll treat myself to someone a little bit fresher…
Art is mine. 😍