He
was lost!-not a shade of doubt of that;
For
he never barked at a slinking cat,
But
stood in the square where the wind blew raw
With
a drooping ear and a trembling paw
And
a mournful look in his pleading eye
And
a plaintive sniff at the passer-by
That
begged as plain as a tongue could sue,
"O
Mister! please may I follow you?"
A
lorn wee waif of a tawny brown
Adrift
in the roar of a heedless town.
Oh,
the saddest of sights in a world of sin
Is
a little lost pup with his tail tucked in!
Now
he shares my board and he owns my bed,
And
he fairly shouts when he hears my tread;
Then,
if things go wrong, as they sometimes do,
He
asserts his right to assuage my woes
With
a warm, red tongue and a nice, cold nose
And
a silky head on my arm or knee
And
a paw as soft as a paw can be.
When
we rove the woods for a league about
He's
as full of pranks as a school let out:
For
he romps and frisks like a three months' colt,
And
he runs me down like a thunderbolt.
Oh,
the blithest of sights in the world so fair
Is
a gay little pup with his tail in the air!
By:
Arthur Guiterman
4/15/99