Sunday, September 18, 2016


                    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.