A fatigued bark sounded from the pen.
What could that mongrel want now?
Sulking over the drunken hound,
I begged his dilemma I should know;
The pedigree of a different kind,
Allows none less than mutts astray.
What much the pessimistic residual?
How does the simple distinction posses?
For it is he who doesn't grasp;
It was what little discern so prejudice,
That put him down in the coop.
Forbidden to see such a light of day,
Or touch in the direction of liberty.
His compass points to the free of his own,
Shows him which road permissioned.
I tell him sincerity to the leash;
It will give him such his punishment of free,
Given to those like his own kind.
His silly wishes and hopes to privilege,
Will be choked with no precaution.