Fido’s Dream (Poetry Comp)

With apologies to Sir Henry Newbolt…..

The dog is in his kennel not fifty feet away
(Fido, art tha sleepin’ there below?)
Stretched between the wooden walls, dozing half the day
An’ dreamin’ all the time of Bonio.
Yonder lies the opener, yonder lies the tin
Yonder lie the packs of Bonio.
When the fork’s a’ mashin’ and the gravy’s splashin’
He sees it all so plainly in a golden, meaty glow.

The dog he was a mongrel dog that ruled the Devon streets,
(Fido, art tha’ sleepin’ there below?)
Roving’ thro’ the alleyways, he terrorised with ease,
A’ dreamin’ all the time o’ Bonio.
“Take my dish inside there, fill it to the brim,
Fill it when the gravy’s runnin’ low;
If I don’t get dinner, I’ll turn into a sinner,
An’ dig up all the garden as I dug it long ago.”

The dog he’s in his kennel now, the Great Dane’s safely gone,
(Fido, art tha sleepin’ there below?)
Stretched between the wooden walls, his job’s completely done
He’s dreamin’ all the time o’ Bonio.
Call him from the rooftops, call him up the Street,
Call him when you’ve got a Bonio;
Where the fork’s a’ mashin’ an’ the gravy’s splashin’
The dog will still come runnin’, as he ran up long ago!

OZ

Author: O Zangado

Just loping around. Extremely fond of roast boar in particular, meat in general and cooking on the barbie. Fish is good too. View all posts by O Zangado