Zurelle was at her excitement’s peak
And her rugged dog a tattered piece
Both had their tongues very meek
A shilling they begged for some good old meat

Where she had come from there were only carts.
And inside her sack  dead grandma’s empty purse
Her eyes glistened at every open mart
Oh look at those yummy looking tarts

A smile for a bite; bostin and me
Oh won’t you heed our hungry little need
Perhaps home we must return to him
He beats, yes but our tummies will have its feed.


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