Carlos, around the corner up the street,
Told me his neighbor had a statue made
Of the most fearsome watchdog you could meet
Who, vanquished by Carlos, died of shame
After his pusillanimous retreat.
The bleeding fang holes in his lips and face
And flleeing butt the sculptor quite ignored.
A fearful snarl he incised in their place,
And this preposterously trumped up epitaph:
“My name is King Rottweileras, overlord
Of all, none dare resist me but the daft!”
He vaunts himself beneath a chestnut tree
Where Carlos goes each day to have a laugh
And take a well-aimed, satisfying pee.
