Iron bars high and proud fence them in
While the prisoners like criminals are caged
Whilst all they have ever done is been unloved
Glaring out the bars as they wish for a better life
And the sorrow when their former user rushes in and snatches a different pet, a rarer pet, and gloats
Builds a bitter resentment of all and a cold disposition towards anyone
For the users discard the pets that they feel are useless
Without a second thought, without even hesitation!
For they care not whether the pets are happy or not
They wish to have that Black Advent and trade it for the Hollyfox.
They care not about the pets they have trampled in their greedy, ambitious trades.
They think of themselves as kind! benevolent! and surely the people that have met them would agree?
Yet there is no reluctance in their eyes when they 'donate' to the pound
As if the pets, they are its, no more important than the pebble on the sidewalk!
Sincere apologies to those pets
Who, doomed to rot only because of their rarity, shall never find a true home.
We don't often get poems about the Pound! [[ ＣＨＥＲＲＹ ＢＬＯＳＳＯＭ ]] seems to have decided to remedy this, and reminded us about all of those very common pets that stick around when the Pound's open. Thank you! c: Perhaps more people will grab one of those poor super-common pets!