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A tortured,
anguished soul,
Has fallen in a hole,
And now he starts to panic,
With no one there to help,
Or hear his painful yelp,
He's getting rather frantic,
Whatever can he do?
I think his days are through,
He's stuck in dirt, organic.
He's
clawing at the sides,
Not making any strides,
The hole keeps getting bigger,
With every scoop of dirt,
His body starts to hurt,
And he becomes a digger,
But almost out of air,
With nothing much to spare,
He's running out of vigor.
They
found him much too late,
With death his final state,
Now they can only bury,
It's such a tragic end,
And hard to comprehend,
Now they are very wary,
Of walking in the hills,
And having these same spills,
And ending up like Larry.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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