I know our little Tiggy, just as we,
Has dreams at night: her muffled barks declare
She’s visiting again some memory
Or chasing an imaginary hare.
What say, my little walking mate, that we
Cavort together in one tandem dream
Reflecting what along our route we’ll see
As we stroll on beneath the full moon’s gleam?
Another dog we’ll spy or, better yet,
A cat who’s bold enough to start a spat,
But better yet will cuddle for a pet
And we’ll be perfectly content with that.
Now, soon it will be time to take our walk
Then find what other critters you can stalk.
O, Muse of making something difficult
Seem easy—assist me, please, in this endeavor
So that my poem achieves the grand result
Of living in posterity forever—
This sonnet, though, I know’s not such a one
Since it now simply talks about itself,
A subject that most readers readily shun,
A book of which would never leave the shelf,
But if I could pull off a tour de force
By writing in a single sentence one
Persuading even skeptics to endorse
My prowess, I’ll be proud of what I’ve done,
And I, of course, will praise you for your aid
Without which such a verse could not be made.
A wise old owl now sits beside my chair,
A figurine I found in a thrift shop,
Reminding me of owls with whom we share
Our backyard oak trees, where they perch atop,
Reminding me as well to realize
That Homo sapiens sapiens should be wise.