He was lost

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!

He won my heart, for I set great store,

on my own Red Beaut, who is here no more.

So I whistled clear, and he trotted up,

and who so glad, as that small lost pup.

 

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,

and the world is cold, and I'm feeling blue

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!

 

(Arthur Guiterman)