A Christmas shelter pet's poem

Tis the night before Christmas and all through the town,
every shelter is full--we are lost, but not found.

Our numbers are hung on our kennels so bare,
we hope every minute that someone will care.

They'll come to adopt us and give us the call,
"Come here, Max and Sparkie -- come fetch your new ball!"

But now we sit here and think of the days
we were treated so fondly -- we had cute, baby ways.

Once we were little, then we grew and we grew.
Now we're no longer young and we're no longer new.

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