They call it seven days of grace,
locked behind bars in this cold, dark place.
Hoping for someone to take me away,
to a brand new home where I can stay.
Until then I must wait,
and try not to think of my possible fate.
I sit in the corner and quiver and quake,
and wish I could say "my life's not yours to take"
But the days fly by with incredible pace,
oh why do they call this seven days of grace?
(This refers to the seven days in which strays wait in the pound to be claimed before being put to sleep)
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About This Blog
This blog was originally started as a thread on the forum pages of an animal rescue site. Now it's here!
The articles you find in here are purely for entertainment (yours and mine) and (with one or two exceptions) are all tongue-in-cheek chronicles of the World (my bit, anyway) as I see it.
No disrespect is intended towards anyone unless I make a mistake and make it too obvious.
I hope you enjoy my offerings. Feedback and comments of any kind are welcome.
Have a look here too http://symdaddy-humour.blogspot.com/
Or visit me at http://pinterest.com/symdaddy/