
The DachshundOnce upon a midnight dreary as I plodded weak and wearyTo my bed with visions full of Slumberland’s enchanted shore.I was taking off my socks and suddenly I spied my dachshundCurled up like a sleeping fox in just the space that I yearned for“Move yourself off of my bed, please, I am weary and footsore”Quoth the dachshund, “No. You snore.”Startled by the stillness marked by such display of cheeky snarkQuickly did I point my finger toward the bedroom’s open door.“Get thee hence, you little brat, I’ll take no sort of sass like that,Upon my bed I’ll stretch out flat, my wearied senses to restore.After all my toil I crave the yielding...