Pull you from the hole you've been stinking in
A familiar tang of wet nest and dock salt
The most docile pet I ever owned
That still has me walking miles with them,
Times in front and times behind
Throw my books on the fire those nights
Read the rain and the marshes and scrub
Them through hell and high thicket
On sleepy days, I would stick
My wool socks in their mouths
Let them talk to my cozy toes
And feel nourished by the past
A pair of laces for every year,
They simply cannot handle these
Hide armoured tough old mothers
On the week they were given
A wood pigeon, mauled by a cat
Still living, barely, lay caked in mud
Wing flapping and an broke coo
Like a flute shoved down a throat
In you I tried vainly to extinguish the misery
Stamping on the head and just
Driving it deeper into the mud
