Saturday, September 17, 2016


                 It’s shortly after dawn, and as I sit,
                 The early planes above make their descent,
                  So now my game’s to shape lines meet and fit,
                  A feat on which my mind is wholly bent.

                 The dogs have had their outing to the yard
                 While Kimmie’s still upstairs asleep in bed
                 Dreaming of scenes in which our dogs have starred:
                 It’s they, not sugarplums, that fill her head.

                 And now it’s they who’ll ride this sonnet out,
                 A presence in our lives to celebrate,
                 But if I am too long at this, they’ll shout:
                 “It’s walkie time for us!  Your poem can wait!”

                      Let’s see if I can wrap this up right off
                      Before they come to me to plead and scoff