1 had a dog, more like a sheep,
and all that damned dog did was sleep.
'Bergen' was a drifter's choice
of a name bereft of voice voice
is what she got from me
every time I'd spring her free.
In the park, or almost there,
Bergen barked a spare "Beware!"
Bergen had a girl's grin:
like her mistress's, for sin.
Everywhere my Bergen went,
scents would beckon, doggiesent.
Sugar-eyed and shaggy-tailed,
like a whalingboat, she sailed
right into another's poop,
leaving purposeless my scoop.
Bergen never jumped the gun;
sleeping in was too much fun.
Why go out and shake a leg?
When you're Bergie, you can beg:
"Take me to the land of treats!
'More I sleeps, the more I eats.""
(Bergen weren't no grammar hog,
bibliophile or pedagogue.)
Bergen liked to play with pups,
hanks of hair and empty cups.
Fleas would fly to her like gnats,
after which, she'd fly to cats.
Now that Bergie's gone to waste,
I recall how once she chased
cats from limbs and sophistry
down to dogs' philosophy.