BUM

BUM

He's a little dog with a stubby tail,

And a moth eaten coat of tan.

And his legs are short, of the wobbly sort;

I doubt if they ever ran;

And he howls at night, while in broad daylight

He sleeps like a bloomin' log,

And he likes the food of the gutter breed;

He's a most irregular dog.

I call him Bum, and in total sum

He's all that his name implies,

For he's just a tramp with a highway stamp

That culture cannot disguise;

And his friends, I've found, in the streets abound,

Be they urchins or dogs or men;

Yet he sticks to me with fiendish glee;

It is truly beyond my ken.

I talk to him when I am lonesome - like,

And I'm sure he understands

When he looks at me so attentively

And gently licks my hands;

Then he rubs his nose on my tailored clothes,

But I never say naught there at,

For the good Lord knows I can buy more clothes,

But never a friend like that!

By W. Dayton Wedgefarth