Still Time

Today has a different feel to it.

It’s warm enough to open the doors

 and I watch the sun

play a game with spring

though I think winter

is just on a coffee break.

Are the green shoots being fooled

or am I?

They poke through the soil and grass

and talk about life starting over.

Maybe  it’s not too late for me;

maybe there is still time.

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A Dog’s Bed is His Castle

This is my bed!

I saw you pay, I heard you say,

This is Jack’s bed,

as clear as day.

Are they a bit dim,

the two in there now

‘cos when I approach them

they just say miaow.

And that’s just not good enough,

it’s below the bar

when you’ve been on a long walk

almost too far

and all your bones ache

and your muscles too

and you’ve got lots of

picking at bits to do,

things that have stuck like twigs

and the odd stick

and all you need is

to give them a good lick.

But a dog needs his bed

to attend to all this,

it’s no good just looking

and letting them hiss.

So please stop saying,

Aw, don’t they look sweet,

Get them out of my bed

you could bribe with a treat.

It’s degrading for a dog

lying here on the floor

on a damp dirty mat

just by the door.

I need my bed and I need it now

so please get them out

and I don’t care how.

I could give you a tip though

to help you along,

just grab the hoover

and switch it on.