Monday 5 November 2018

Doggerel (November)


Doggerel (November)

The classics repeatedly say every doggerel has his day. From daylight’s first hurrah, woofs, barks et ceterah Nova is on his way, bounding out to play thanks to the good groomin’ of his well-trained human; sloppily slurps the bowl, demolishes biscuits whole, looks up with limpid eyes of serious surprise for tennis ball and leash; mouth smiles a wanton please persuasive and excited, raucous once invited. Then it’s the verge, the park, chasing a wren’s a lark; in long grass with a find; sniffing a lady’s behind. November McGonagall, Nova for short and all, exhausts himself, bursts with photographic thirst.

Doggerel (November)

The classics repeatedly say
Every doggerel has his day.
From daylight’s first hurrah,
Woofs, barks et ceterah
Nova is on his way,
Bounding out to play
Thanks to the good groomin’
Of his well-trained human;
Sloppily slurps the bowl,
Demolishes biscuits whole,
Looks up with limpid eyes
Of serious surprise
For tennis ball and leash;
Mouth smiles a wanton please
Persuasive and excited,
Raucous once invited.
Then it’s the verge, the park,
Chasing a wren’s a lark;
In long grass with a find;
Sniffing a lady’s behind.
November McGonagall,
Nova for short and all,
Exhausts himself, bursts
With photographic thirst.

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