Tuesday, 01 September 2009




For a lover who identified with a dog – a big basset hound 

The poor old basset likes his
Home comforts, and a nice bone
To steal when you’re not looking.
After a hard day, he drifts
Off to sleep quite gently
With the music playing. Try
To wake him and he twitches
His whiskers, opens one eye
And moans a little. What he
Dreams of is what he won’t tell.
That’s a basset-secret, buried
Deeper than bones. “Poor old dog,”
I murmur, meaning something
Quite different. He’s asleep,
Of course, and doesn’t listen.


This site was last updated 01-09-2009