Winnie the Talking Poo(c)h

I thought I saw a piece of chocolate on the ground
"That's poop, no doubt" said my good old hound

When he was a little 4 month old puppy, abandoned, he lay in a dirt mound
My little Winnie, in a white plastic bag, with unimaginable cruelty was he bound

If it wasn't for his plea, if it wasn't for that extraordinary sound 
The words "Help me" would have been lost, in the city hubbub, they'd have drowned

A happy day that was, for a forever home Winnie finally found
I named him so, because he won our hearts, and was thus rightly crowned

Talking dog or not, I couldn't have imagined a cooler, more loving family member around
His best talent, however, went beyond his vocab, it's the speed at which food he downed

After fourteen years of gorging mouthfuls of meat by the pound
I trust his sense of smell and walk past that chocolate coloured poop, during our breezy afternoon round

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