My fat is a useless dog.
Losing it is no disaster.
Yet hardly does it run away
Than it comes back to its master.
I'll lose it once, sometimes twice
Every year. Some years more.
Then, while eating my dessert,
I'll hear it scratching at my door.
I don't regret its absences.
Oh no, I adjust them just fine.
Still I take it back when it returns.
Can I deny this dog is mine?
I've tried to find a loving heart
To share it with or give it to.
But with age it's gotten ugly,
So there's nothing left to do
But feed and exercise it
And keep it happy when it's here
And be prepared for it to stray
And then to always reappear.