POEM OF THE DAY

ROY

Flushed with youth we wide-eyed boys would call upon a dog named Roy. For he was like us, care free, untamed, and followed as we called his name

When our bounding strides, almost a jog, was mimicked by this loyal old dog.

And from Battle Hill, coursing upstream, we truly lived the boyhood dream.

Where the sticklebacks and voles galore, were often then the things we saw Then Peewits, puff balls, tiny shrews, and ghost-like owls were often viewed.

Sweet skylarks shared our summer sky, and sang suspended from nearby. As so far and wide gold fields of corn, swayed in the breeze from dusk til dawn

The old pig sty was redundant then, a place we’d often build our dens. And as we would do that, without fail, we’d always spy Roy’s wagging tail.

And he chased whatever lingered there, no match was he for startled hares. That soaked up rays of the morning sun,

Roy bolted too but soon was done. And in ditches when snow drifted deep, there yon side the old pit heap. We would dig our tunnels long and wide, and snuggly shelter deep inside. Our wellies squelched our fingers curled, each winter in our wonder world. But drawn were we as wide eyed boys, the best of times we had with Roy .