Old Bob.
Old Bob lived
in a cardboard box
under the stairs.
Don’t feed the mutt,
Granny said.
But you did, often,
with scraps from the table
or broken biscuits
from the battered tin
that Gran kept
on the lower shelf.
Bob was a short haired
fawn dog with eyes
like dark plump plums.
He’d snarl or growl
if anyone got too near
or touched his bowl,
except you; you he’d let
into his box and lick
your five year old face
and allow you to stroke
or hug or touch his tail.
He’d bark, snarl and growl
his dislike of humanity;
you, however, he seemed
to love, somehow.
poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
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