She walks with grace, this lady fair,
A noble sight to see,
I’d rather she, when out to walk,
Would chose not grace but me.

For grace is but a mangy dog,
She picked up on the street.
And I’m annoyed to have it known
She tracks in muddy feet.

Where I in contrast am well known,
To be a fashion plate,
This ‘mutt’ receives her time and love,
While I a crueler fate.

For I am but a jealous man,
With love I hold sublime.
As she bestows upon that dog,
The kiss that should be mine.