An Old Dog's Dreamings Poem by Francis Duggan

In the backyard in the mid day sun on the concrete path he
lay
Old Tim the dog is frail and old he's seen a better day
He slept there in the mid day warmth and to him came the
dream
That he was young and fit again and full of self esteem.

He raced along the sunlit field pursuing the quick brown
hare
The warm wind blowing from the south was ruffling his brown
hair
A three years old dog in his prime the hare dodged left
and right
His master Jimmy cheered him on and laughed loud in delight.

The hare raced through a rushy patch and up the bushy height
And he made his clean get away when Tim of him lost sight
He returned to his master Jim who gently stroked his head
It's not your fault he got away 'you good dog Tim' he said.

He awoke from his pleasant dream the birds sang on the trees
And on the flower patch in the yard the small brown honey
bees.
Were busily gathering nectar their droning soft and low
And from their hive in neighbour's yard were buzzing to and
fro.

He dozed again and as he slept he had another dream
He was a young dog rising two and strong and fit and lean
The bull terrier from across the way attacked him on the
street
But he pinned the bully to the bitumen and victory tasted
sweet.

His master Jimmy felt so proud he said 'you good dog Tim'
I did not think that you would prove more than a match for
him
This was a moment he'd recall when looking back in time
He was the top dog in the block and near his glorious prime.

He woke again on the back yard the sun was shining bright
And butterflies were flitting in the beautiful sunlight
Just for a moment he'd been young and older dogs seemed slow
And he was in his marvellous prime ten glorious years ago.

He dozed again another dream the night was black as pitch
As he copulated in the grove with a dark collie bitch
He'd fought another dog for her and had frightened him away
She stayed with him all through the night and she left him
in the day.

He woke again this time he stood and down the path walked
slow
And on the flower patch in the yard the bees droned soft and
low
His once brown muzzle now quite gray the years in him now
show
And he was in his marvellous prime ten glorious years ago.