Rex, my gorgeous Dogstar,
with your beaut Aristo nose,
I saw you running fast and far
on your charming hirsute toes.
Oh Rex, I dream of you and me,
in heat and wondrous harmony,
making canine whoopee.
I like your spindly little legs
and your nervous courtship dance,
but my nature doesn’t make me beg
for your coy, admiring glance.
And when the whoopee’s over (sigh),
I cannot tell a silken lie,
it’s you, my dear, who’s going to die.
I’m glossy, prickly, by a fence,
all dressed in Lincoln green.
My wish for berries is intense,
but none for years I’ve seen.
But then (hurrah!) I see a bee,
and, Glory be, the bee’s seen me!
A subtle kind of whoopee.