Peaches

There was a little dog named Peaches
who had to nibble everything in her reaches.
She chewed a ball down to its core,
wondered why it would bounce no more.

A yummy slipper made a midnight snack,
a dress shoe polished a shiny deep black.
A big fluffy pillow, feathers flying everywhere,
a Barbie doll with ragged blonde cut hair.

They gave Peaches bones, which made her yawn.
She feasted on leaves scattered on the front lawn.
Ate a sock and burped it up in icky pieces,
then downed some Halloween chocolate Reese’s.

The trees grew their fruit in the sunny warm fall,
and Peaches tried each one, and loved them all.
Her little tummy began to moan and growl,
making Peaches smell - oh, so very foul.

By winter when she ate a ton of new-fallen snow,
she at last began to stretch, and expand and grow.
Now Peaches eats kibble from a doggie dish,
Purloining sometimes a table scrape of quiche.