|
 | Outside now! Tree trunk! Sniffing! Peeing! Look -- a stick! A bigger stick! Smelly compost! Chasing a ball now! Fun! Peeing again! | |
|
| My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Luna! Hi Luna! Run along the fence! Oh look -- old onion peel! Sound of a truck? Better start barking! Where was I? Oh, right: smelly compost heap! | |
|
| My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, | |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Grampa! Chasing a ball! Where's my treat? What was that sound!? Cool: a big stick! | |
|
| And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, At random from the truth vainly express'd; For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. | |
|
|
|
|
|
