the_ass Fido O tiny ass, plush history you are. Stuffed and mounted beneath museum glass. Head forever bent, your war days long passed. Upon your back you sport battle wounds, scars A bit faded now, black strokes, char former, Now smoke. When the tourists cease, then, at last, You may declare, “Peace!” As the great ones passed, How did you fare? (The greatest a greater Ass than you) “Stop your bitchin’!” he would yell, And slap a frightened soldier – much like he Slapped you with his fame. Where is your worth, O Small beast of burden? At West Point you tell Your companions when to fade: Ulysses’ Diploma, George’s Thompson, and Doug’s robe. 030309 what's it to you? who go blather from