Georgie ran with the wind in his fur, Out of Winnipeg, a young pup with lots to learn. No papers, no past, just paws on the ground, A ghost in the smoke, too lost to be found. He hated the shrubs that clawed at his soul, Thorns of the past taking their toll. Each step through the darkness, he longed for a light, A place where the shrub would fade from his sight. Doctor Gram reflects under the Pantone skies, Walks little Georgie to his vast emerald mine. Not a care in the world, and nothing...