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A poem by Rupert Brooke |
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The Little Dog's Day |
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Title: The Little Dog's Day Author: Rupert Brooke [More Titles by Brooke] All in the town were still asleep, All his life he'd been good, as far as he could, So his prayer he got granted--to do just what he wanted, He fought with the he-dogs, and winked at the she-dogs, He took sinewy lumps from the shins of old frumps, They thought 'twas the devil was holding a revel, When the blood-red sun had gone burning down, July 1907.
[Footnote 1: Now we're off] [Footnote 2: I'll make them sit up.] [Footnote 3: Pronounce either to suit rhyme.] [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |