A tale or two I've told of her before.
I now may add to her e'er-growing fame
For cowardice, the following: Of yore,
When thunder's rumbles have occurred,
E'en ere their sensing by mere human ears,
To hide has been her instinct, though absurd;
Our house is large and sturdy. Molly's fears
Will brook no consolation, though. At most
Such times this collie-chicken mix has made
Her shelter in a closet. There, a ghost
In black and white she's cowered and she's stayed
Until bribed with a nom. But now the dryer
Seems safer? Or does she seek lint attire?