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.