Tuesday, April 5, 2016


                  That Bud and Tiggy’d ever be a match
                  Is too absurd, considering how small
                  She is, though she thinks he’s a real catch,
                  Impressed in part perhaps because he’s tall.

                 Their courtship, though, can be no more than play
                 In chance encounters on our daily strolls
                 That lead us by his house most every day,
                 Drawn by the eager yearning of their souls.

                 Platonic play is all they may enjoy,
                 A bit of frisking all in innocence,
                Two passing sailors calling out “Ahoy!”
                A fondness that can never grow intense.

                    And yet, I’d bet that in Tig’s nightly dreams
                    Their courtship grows under the moonlight’s beams.