Mick

Mick my mongrel-O
Lives in a bungalow,
Painted green with a round doorway,
With and eye for cats
And a nose for rats
He lies on his threshold half the day.
He buries his bones
By the rockery stones,
And Never, oh never, forgets this place.
Ragged and thin
From his tail to his chin,
He looks at you with a sideways face.
Dusty and brownish,
Wicked and clownish,
Hell win no prizes in the County Show.
But throw him a stick,
And up jumps Mick,
And right through the flower-beds see him go!

James Reeves

Death of a Citizen
Out of an egg a year ago
From under the eaves in Horsemans Row
A sparrow came.
It dogged about amongst the stalls,
Heard without heeding the womans calls.
It hopped about for bits to eat
And ventured round to Mary Street.
It lived at a twittering jittery place
Along with its fellows from Henry Place
Til yesterday, when its tricky feet
Were outmanoeuvred in Capel Street
For a hard-driven car had come rushing along
And silenced the twittering city song.
In Capel Street in disarray
Beside the kerb a sparrow lay.
A sparrow died.
Harry Molloy

What a Calamity!
Little Harold, Ill be frank,
Fell in a computer bank.
No one knows how it occurred.
Operators there conferred.
No one laughed or even smiled.
WHERE was little Harold filed?
It might take a day or a week
Electronic hide-and-seek,
Keeping this poor boy in mind,
Pressing buttons Search and Find.
Then a friendly green light glowed,
For, at last, theyd found a code.
A sudden clatter, then a shout
And there was Haroldprinted out.
Max Fatchen