Everyday, on my way home,

We pass some houses,

In the route before my own,

Where all the misfits live.

Everyday, as we leave the second stop,

I count the houses, one, two,

As we go down the block, three, four,

For a house with a cherry red door.

Everyday, I look for a big bush,

Which is by the house of my goal,

And I focus my search,

For these two little friends.

Everyday, when the chain fence,

Is in my sight,

First, appears the pure,

Then, the dirty, calling out to me.

Everyday, as these two come in sight,

The pure, a german sherpherd,

Calm, and its gaze, light,

Standing there, watching us pass.

Everyday, as I watch these buds,

The dirty, a mix of common bestfriends,

Listening with one normal, one bent, just like the pair,

It chases, longing for a playmate.

Everyday, the dirty's and my eyes meet,

And there's an undeniable connection,

I almost hold my hand to the glass, almost,

As if by doing so I can pet it.

Everyday, the dirty calls to me,

My heart tugs as I understand its name,

And I feel deserving of the title too,

Its filthy seeming fur matching all of me.

But one day, after a break from school,

The bus passed the house,

And the breeze was just a bit cool,

Then, I felt lost, as I heard no call, and my heart, dropped.