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Poems & Stories A Poem he never came to me when i would call unless i had a tennis ball or he felt like it, but mostly he didn't come at all.. and before very long he'd tire of the ball and be asleep in his corner in no time at all... he would wake up at night and he would have this fear of the dark, of life, of lots of things and he'd be glad to have me near... and now he's dead. and there are nights when i think i feel that stare and i reach out my hand to stroke his hair, but he's not there. oh, how i wish that wasn't so, i'll always love a dog named beau. written by: Jimmy Stewart | |||
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