My world is all tied up
with simple things of hype
Such as floors to wipe,
Dishes to swipe.
The only power we have is that on the electric fence,
Which, of course, frees us from so much nonsense,
Such as lofty judgement or threats of recompense.
We donít worry about making a decision
Upon the word of gossip or tales of derision,
While we are at force on that pavilion.
There isnít much pomp involved with wiping noses,
Or, for that matter, picking for bouquet, roses.
Dresses plain almost to austerity, for our poses.
And if we have a childlike trust,
For those of the upper crust,
Be then as it must.
Even our games are simple ones,
Filled with love of life and funs,
Leaving no one injured or on their buns.