Soon, off we’ll go to take our walkabout,
Gyp, Tig and I, but not until this verse
Has ambled through the wilderness I scout
In seeking what I have to say as I rehearse
The possibilities that rhymes present
And tread the narrow path I slowly find
On which I’ll seem inevitably bent
Arriving where originally inclined.
The truth, however, is quite otherwise:
I’ve little notion when I start my poem
Where I am headed for as I devise
The clearest passageway to take me home.
This done, the dogs and I may now proceed
Out on our walk, on which I’ll let them lead.