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    THE DOG'S NICHE

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    ​[Inspired by Hughes Mearn's Antigonish]

    Yesterday while in the park,
    I met a dog who didn't bark.
    He didn't bark again today;
    And yet a lot he had to say.

    For though his lips were standing still,
    There was a tree he'd marked at will.
    I cocked a leg and promptly peed
    To leave no doubt that I could read.

    This evening when I sniffed near home,
    I caught a message in the loam
    To check the trees along the walk
    So he could have a little talk.
    ​ 
    —Shortfellow (aka Lord Zakwoof of Glenwoof)

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    PRELUDE

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    ​Pillows of willows rolling in meadows,
    Marking the course of a singular creek;
    Blushing the landscape with plumes of sienna,
    Prelude to springtime and greenery most chic.

    Subtle the colors, as just now awakening,
    Wispy the leaves on tentative stems;
    Barely surpassing their spectral origins,
    Buds sitting quietly like genies and gems.

    Strangely low key is this vital transition,
    Muted the scene in a year-long play;
    Moment of poignancy vested with purpose,
    On its way a season to sway.

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    CHINQUAPIN

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    This chinquapin with gold-backed leaves
    May tantalize the gaze,
    But spiny fruit that grow thereon 
    With hazards will amaze.

    Their spines when young the brave will dare
    To lightly test with touch,
    To brush a fuzzy-looking sphere,
    To think it's not too much.

    If flying hedgehogs lived indeed,
    This bush would camouflage;
    Provide a nest above the herd,
    A safety net enlarge.

    I keep a watchful canine eye
    When passing just in case
    A pygmy hedgehog drops to earth--
    Oh, what a chance to chase!

    —Shortfellow (aka Lord Zakwoof of Glenwoof)

    ​