Good people all of every sort
Give ears unto my song
And if you find it wonderous sort
I cannot hold you long.
In Islington, there was a man
Of whom the world might say
That still a godly race he ran
Whenever he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had
To comfort friends and foes
The naked every day he clad
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town, the dog was found
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends
But when a pique began
The dog to gain his private ends
Went mad and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wondering neighbours ran
And swore the dog had lost his wits
To have bitten so good a man.
The wound seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye
And while they swore the dog was mad
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light
That showed the rogues, they lied
The man recovered of the bite
The dog it was that died.
Poem by Ebenezer Olu Odunewu
1 Comment
Good work.