Be not afeard; the lurcher is full of noises,
a hundred twangling voices
that sound as if they should mean something
but do not
or if they did the dog hath long forgot
as he wakes with a sneeze and a start
and a mournful howl that would break’st thy heart
and rolls about the rug a lot
and his floppy ears begin to swot
with shaggy, importunate paws
and oft time roars
when those grievous and galumphing claws
wrought more damage than he witteth
whereupon he forthwith doth quitteth
to lie in attitudes of bleak despair
in a forlorn heap at the top of the stairs
and moans, and sighs
and everyone’s patience tries
and makes them curse that moment when
they adopted a lurcher from the rescue pen
as he dreams o’ the walk he had last weekend
and wakes, and cries to dream again