Writersdigest.com has this poem-a-day competition during every April and November, so I though I’d give it a go. I ended up doing a poem every day, sometimes two. So here’s what I wrote:-
APRIL 2015 POEM-A-DAY CHALLENGE
to write poems from daily prompts set by
Robert Lee Brewer at writersdigest.com
ABSENTMINDEDNESS Day 2 prompt – a secrets poem
AGGRAVATION Day 3 prompt – a machines poem
ABANDONMENT Day 4 prompt – a departures poem
ANTICIPATION Day 5 prompt – a vegetables poem
APPEARANCE Day 6 prompt – a things not as they appear poem
ADORATION Day 7 prompt – a love or anti-love poem
AUDACITY Day 8 prompt – a dare poem
ADOLESCENCE Day 9 prompt – a work poem
APOLOGY Day 10 prompt – a “How ………” poem
ANGUISH Day 11 prompt – a seasonal poem
ADMISSION Day 12 prompt – a damage poem
ANNIVERSARY Day 13 prompt – a confession poem
ARTFUL Day 14 prompt – an honest and/or dishonest poem
AMAZING Day 15 prompt – an adjective poem
ARGUMENT Day 16 prompt – a science poem
ACCIDENT Day 17 prompt – a swing poem
ACCWIESCENCE Day 18 prompt – a poem using only two vowels
AUTHORITY Day 19 prompt – an authority poem
ANTAGONISTS Day 20 prompt – a “My ……. the …….. poem
ALMOST HUMAN Day 21 prompt – an I am… or an I am not… poem
ANIMAL INSTINCT Day 22 prompt – a nature poem
ANCESTORS Day 23 prompt – a history poem
ATTENTION Day 24 prompt – a moment poem
AUNTIE Day 25 prompt – an across the sea poem
ACCUSED Day 26 prompt – words coined by Shakespeare
ABSENTEE Day 27 prompt – a looking back poem
APIARIST Day 28 prompt – a matter or antimatter poem
ANGELS WHITE HEAVEN Day 29 prompt – a what nobody else knows poem
ADIEU Day 30 prompt – a “Bury the *******” poem
Day 1 Poem about Resistance
Seems like such a long time
since she stopped drinking wine.
It was hard, she admits,
and she could not resist
just one “medicinal”
bottle when she felt low.
But it’s not long to go
when she can drink again.
Amen to Lent. Amen!
Day 2 Poem about a secret
She puts her gold necklace
or her earrings
on the shelf.
But she’s a secret place
where she hides things
Like bottles of red wine
or good cheese.
Then when it’s the right time
she’ll fetch them out
just to please.
It is strange, to be sure,
is why it is
she can remember where
are her glasses
not at all
but will never forget
just where her treat
It is well hidden yet
it won’t defeat
A Terzanelle Poem
I have this secret to share:
she cannot find her glasses.
I know exactly where
and as time passes
she’ll find them again.
She cannot find her glasses
she has a mixed-up brain.
She is so absent-minded.
She’ll find them again,
they’re actually on her head!
She can keep secrets:
she is so absent-minded,
but she never forgets
where she’s hidden her wine.
She can keep secrets
I will not keep mine.
I have this secret to share:
where she’s hidden her wine
I know exactly where.
Extract from writersdigest.com 2015 April PAD Challenge, day 2:- Terzanelle Poetic Form
What do you get when you mix two super popular Italian poetic forms, specifically the terza rima and villanelle? The terzanelle, of course!
It combines the lyricism of the terza rima with the repetition of the villanelle to make a powerful one-two punch in only 19 lines. The traditional stance on the terzanelle is that the lines should be written in a consistent iambic meter, but there are plenty of contemporary terzanelles that just aspire to keep the lines a consistent length throughout.
Here’s the rhyme and refrain order for the Terzanelle:
Day 3 Poem about machines
Whirr, whirr, whirr!
Her vacuum machine!
She uses it every day.
The noise drives me mad
but actually I have to say
I’d prefer my pad
to be more serene
but still clean.
Whirr, whirr, whirr!
Her washing machine!
What a dreadful racket that makes
while I try to snooze
and then when it’s over she takes
her stuff out to use
her drying machine.
That’s so mean!
I like radio.
That is on all day
to stop me feeling all alone,
or so they all say.
But constant ringing on her phone,
irritates me so.
That should go!
Can I get some peace?
It’s very hard for me to sleep
soundly as I should
because I always have to keep
aware of no good,
as the house police.
Less noise please!
The very worst thing
that aggravates me
is her perishing computer.
Hours spent that should be
quality time spent together
walking or playing.
Day 4 Poem about departures
She cannot hoodwink me:
I recognise the signs.
I know she’s leaving me.
She’s done up to the nines.
She has that special smell,
her hair is set in curls,
her makeup’s done so well
and she is wearing pearls.
Where could she be going?
She says she won’t be long.
I can’t settle knowing
that I can’t go along.
She is breaking my heart
leaving me all alone.
She thinks I’ll be content
just chewing on this bone!
Golden Shovel Poem
“What is this life if full of care
we have no time to stand and stare”.
(with apologies to W H Davies)
You left me with what
you seem to think is
going to help this
pain go away. My life
is totally meaningless if
you’re not here and my heart’s full
of misery because of
the thought that you don’t care.
I want to be with you
all the time and have
you sitting near me. No
treats can replace the time
you spend away from me to
go out. It is more than I can stand
waiting for your return and
all I can do is sit here and stare.
Here are the rules for the Golden Shovel:
Take a line (or lines) from a poem you admire.
Use each word in the line (or lines) as an end word in your poem.
Keep the end words in order.
Give credit to the poet who originally wrote the line (or lines).
The new poem does not have to be about the same subject as the poem that offers the end words.
If you pull a line with six words, your poem would be six lines long. If you pull a stanza with 24 words, your poem would be 24 lines long. And so on.
Day 5 poem about vegetables
V isitors came here last night.
E veryone brought some food.
G atherings happen here often.
E ach time I get in a mood.
T hey leave me alone in my room
A s they all enjoy their feast.
B ut what about little me? I’d
L ike some of their meat at least.
E ventually all that I got
S aved for me was a carrot!
Day 6 poem about things not as they appear
Appearance can be deceptive
her demeanour looks impressive.
The world thinks that she’s tough and smart
but I see her when she’s falling apart.
A Bref Double Poem
Her résumé looks quite impressive,
the world thinks that she is bright and smart,
although she’s not really that clever,
as a worker, she’s extremely keen.
Her garden is always well tended,
with her housework she is obsessive
and she scrubs up well, that I can tell,
she likes ev’rything pristine and clean.
Her shell is rough, tough on the outside
and extremely difficult to crack,
but she has a very soft boiled heart.
You should know exactly what I mean.
Appearances can be deceptive
I see her when she’s falling apart.
Here are the rules for a bref double:
4 stanzas: 3 quatrains (or 4-line stanzas) and 1 couplet (or 2-line stanza)
3 rhymes: an A rhyme, B rhyme, and C rhyme
The A and B rhymes appear twice in the first 3 stanzas and once each in the couplet
The C rhyme is the final line in each of the quatrains
Each poem has a variable line length, but the lines should be consistent within each poem
Day 7 poem about love
I adore her
every step she takes
as I walk beside her.
I eagerly wait
for her to return
when she’s been out late.
I sit watching her hand
for her command.
I lie on the ground
keeping one ear open
listening for her sound.
I will protect her
from harm and comfort her
from all that affects her.
I know that she needs me
and I love her especially
when she feeds me.
Each stanza equals one sentence.
Each sentence/stanza breaks into 3 lines (each line is a separate phrase in the sentence).
There is a variable foot of 2-4 beats per line.
The poem as a whole should add up to 18 lines (or 6 stanzas).
Day 8 poem about a dare
She’s writing her daily poem
sitting on her chair
with her laptop on her lap
but I don’t care.
I want some of her attention
and I’m trying to annoy
so onto her laptop
I drop my mucky toy.
She throws it back at me
and I fetch it back.
I continue in this way to
put her off her track.
I will then steal her slipper
and run around the place
with her in hot pursuit
giving me chase.
If that’s not bad enough
the next thing that I do
is steal from her pocket
a tissue to chew.
I go into my room
to my dish to have a drink
and come back in dripping
where do you think?
Yes, all over her computer
I know that makes her mad
but I just can’t stop myself
from being bad.
And when she gets up
I jump into her chair
and refuse to budge.
No-one else would dare!
a Gwawdodyn poem
She is sitting writing in her chair
I need attention so I don’t care
I drop my toy on her lap to annoy
and give her a very pointed stare.
She throws it off, but I fetch it back:
anything to keep her off her track.
I’m feeling lonely. I want love only
I’ll risk the chance of getting a smack.
A Gwawdodyn Poem:- (according to writersdigest.com)
The gwawdodyn is a Welsh poetic form with a couple variations. However, both versions are comprised of quatrains (4-line stanzas) that have a 9/9/10/9 syllable pattern and matching end rhymes on lines 1, 2, and 4. The variations are made in that third line:
One version has an internal rhyme within the third line. So there’s a rhyme somewhere within the third line with the end rhyme on the third line.
The other version has an internal rhyme within the third line that rhymes with an internal rhyme in the fourth line.
In both cases, the rhyme starts somewhere in the middle of the third line and it is a unique rhyme to the end rhyme in lines 1, 2, and 4.
Here’s a possible diagram for the first version (with the x’s symbolizing syllables):
Note: The “b” rhyme in the middle of the third line
Day 9 poem about work
I’m young and rebellious
as I’m sure you’ll all agree
and Mum’s tearing her hair out
wondering what to do with me.
She’s been fencing me in
bit by bit:
my run now has wire netting
all around it
but my teeth are strong
as I’m a GSD
and wire netting simply
doesn’t bother me.
I’ve pulled it off again
so I can still chew
her wooden fences
when I want to.
Mum’s put slabs down
so I cannot dig
but I’ve still dug a hole,
although not very big.
I charge around my run
chasing every bird
barking louder than
you’ve ever heard.
She’s bought a doggy whistle
to stop me going berserk,
but I can tell you now
that’s not going to work!
Day 10 poem called “How ……..”
How was I to know?
It was just sitting there
in front of my nose.
all ready for my jaws
to wrap themselves around.
It wasn’t just the sound
that the machine makes,
nor your attention that it takes
away from me.
It was more
that I was bored.
I know it was new,
but what else could I do?
You say it cost a packet
and you would deduct
the cost from
what you spend
on my treats,
but it was there,
making a racket,
annoying me with its
whirr, whirr, whirr.
If we had a cat
I could blame it on her.
How could I imagine
that the knob would come off
and render your drying machine
I want your forgiveness.
I know it wasn’t right.
Please don’t frown.
I’m lying with my head held down
trying to look as small as I can.
Day 11 a seasonal poem
I was ripe and ready to mate.
I thought I’d found the perfect date:
he was strong and looked really great.
Why did we wait? Why did we wait?
That lad really had left his mark.
Every day we met in the park
and romped around just for a lark
’til it got dark, ’til it got dark.
Then in the car we took a ride,
I protested, wanted to hide
but could do nothing though I tried
Oh how I cried! Oh how I cried!
They had to drag me through the door
to the vet where I’d been before.
No more seasons that is for sure.
Sexy no more! Sexy no more!
Day 12 a damage poem
I’ve chewed a big hole in the door,
I’ve pulled the lino off the floor,
I’ve stolen things out of the drawer.
I’ve wrecked still more, I’ve wrecked still more.
I’ve scratched some holes in the carpet,
I’ve bitten Mum when at the vet,
I’ve covered our kitchen with wet.
I’ve not done yet, I’ve not done yet.
I chased a man on a scooter,
I almost broke Mum’s computer,
I pulled a wire out of her router.
What a hooter! What a hooter!
I’ve run away with her best shoe,
I’ve torn a kitchen towel or two,
I’ve even picked up my own poo
and Mum said “Ugh!” And Mum said “Ugh!”
I’ve broken things that she can’t mend,
I scream and shout when I’ve been penned.
I’m driving Mum around the bend
at her wits’ end, at her wits’ end.
I’ve been naughty, I must admit,
and Mum freaks out and has a fit
about the damage that I commit.
She’s sick of it, she’s sick of it.
I’m now approaching adulthood
so I’ve decided that I could
behave myself just as I should.
I’ll now be good, I’ll now be good. 🙂
Day 13 a confession poem
I have a confession to make.
I didn’t really mean to do it
but it was so near to my nose
that I just felt I had to chew it.
I just put my teeth around it,
and it came off before I knew it.
I have bitten a hole in it
and you can almost see right through it,
but you can fix it back can’t you?
Perhaps you’ll be able to glue it
or if that doesn’t work at all
maybe you would be wise to screw it.
It might look better without it
but that depends on how you view it.
I have been trying to be good
but it looks very like I blew it!
Day 14 an honest/dishonest poem
I have to be honest with you
I have a big confession too:
It’s not just damage that I do,
I like to run off with Mum’s shoe.
I have a collection of things,
nothing of value, no gold rings,
just mementos that I have found
as I’ve been wandering around.
Last week, one sunny afternoon,
I stole a tiny silver spoon.
It was as shiny as can be.
I just took that to bed with me.
Yesterday I found a cable
sitting on our kitchen table.
I ran off with that, it’s hidden
‘cos I know that it’s forbidden.
I’m an excellent pickpocket:
as I was passing Mum’s jacket
I pinched her handkerchief again.
I should go and work for Fagin!
I would make a useful robber,
better than the Artful Dodger.
Mum says I’m a terrible thief
but it gives me some light relief.
Anything left lying about
just must be mine, without a doubt.
I’ll nick it when she turns her back.
I’m just a kleptomaniac.
Day 15 an adjective poem
It doesn’t take much to keep me happy:
all I need after you’ve “changed my nappy”,
and given me my breakfast and water,
and thrown my ball again that I’ve caught yer,
and walked me all around our country park,
where I could have a good wild run and bark,
and cleared up our backyard that I have messed,
to make me feel I am all loved and blessed
(apart from a nice bone, I’ll just mention)
absolute, undivided attention.
In return, nothing much have I to give
apart from giving you reason to live,
returning my ball, your slipper and glove,
unconditional, undivided love.
Day 16 a science poem
Hey! Let me give you a few basic house rules,
some you won’t even learn at dog training schools.
You will just have to learn to respect my place
and, by the way, I really value my face.
I don’t like to be bitten, even in play,
and my spectacles on my head need to stay.
Please leave my slippers on the soles of my feet,
and actually, my dear, that is MY seat.
I washed this morning, I do not need licking,
and I can’t mend chewed things, even by sticking.
You seem to be well versed in the science
of sheer obstinate canine defiance!
You’ve had your say, I’ve received it loud and clear.
Now I’ve a few words of advice for your ear.
We dogs are descended from wolves, big and brave,
and I am the pack leader, you are my slave.
It’s your job to nurture me, keep me amused,
and replace anything I’ve used or abused.
I don’t need to know about science or art,
the skill that I have is to follow my heart.
So if you make sure that I’m always well fed
and buy me new toys and blankets for my bed,
I’ll stay by your side, forever at your arm
to make certain that you never come to harm.
Day 17 a swing poem
Please don’t be cross, of you I beg,
that I’ve chewed your kitchen chair leg.
I got bored with my new bull’s horn
and my rope-pull toys are all torn,
my deer antler’s in little bits,
my squeaky toy has done the splits,
my leather chews do not last long,
not like the pet toys made by Kong,
and my shin bones are all empty.
I know that I still have plenty
of other things that I could gnaw
but I’ve never chewed that leg before.
The leg sort of caught in my jaws
as I was just licking my paws.
I couldn’t resist. It wasn’t meant.
Actually it was an accident,
not at all intended to grieve.
You don’t believe me? You believe
I just wanted to ring the change?
Before you get within my range
I think I’d best go to my bed,
lie looking sick and swing the lead.
Day 18 a poem using only two vowels, i & e
I’ve been sleeping.
When I’ve peed
I’ll need feeding.
I’ll dig, I’ll weed,
then I need feeding.
Give me tickling.
I’ll fetch the stick.
I’ll need feeding,
I’ll be cwite cwick
then I need feeding.
I’ve been filching.
I’ve hid the pet mitt.
I’ll need feeding
then I will get it,
then I need feeding.
I’ve been whining.
I’ll be cwiet in the night.
I’ll need feeding.
I’m begging, right?
Then I need feeding!
n.b. Some words with initial qu are of Old English origin, having changed their spelling after the Norman Conquest from cw- to qu-: cwen, cwic now written queen, quick. As per encyclopedia.com / topic / U
Day 19 an authority poem
“Hm. Hm. Just listen!
I’m in charge, not you!
I say what you do.
Now come! You come!”
But, Mum, no, no.
I don’t want to go.
That way’s no fun
I’m staying here,
sat on my bum.
“You will do as I say.
We are going this way!
Now come! You come!”
No! I’m refusing to shift.
I’m not going to lift
from this spot.
I want to go back
down that track.
I don’t care what you want,
Now come! You come!”
I don’t like it there,
the traffic scares
me. I want to stay here
in the park where
I feel safe. That way!
“Stop trying to break free!
You’re safe with me.
Now come! You come!”
No, no! You can’t make me!
Free is what I want to be.
Oh, why didn’t you say
you’ve got a treat? Okay,
as you’ve put it that way,
I’ll come. I’ll come.
Day 20 a “my ……. the ……. poem
(My antagonists the pigeons)
Two ugly pigeons
just waddle around
in our back garden,
not making much sound.
They’re fat and lazy
and stay here all day
small birds throw away.
They can’t reach feeders,
they are much too fat,
they’re just a target
for our next door’s cat.
They sleep in the tree
that’s over my run.
I’m disgusted at
the mess that they’ve done.
Now and then some more
fly in here to play,
they tarry a while
but soon fly away.
I bark at them loud
but they show no fear,
and Mum says leave them
because they live here.
I’m fed up with them
strutting round the place
as if they own it.
I run and give chase.
They always escape.
It’s not very fair
that I can’t fly too.
Then they’d get a scare!
Day 21 an “I am …” and/or an “I am not …” poem
I am almost human
so I well understand
exactly what you want
when you ask
if I’d like a “treat”
or if I want a “walk”
or to go to the “park”
or “go fetch” a “stick”
and “give to Mum”
or have a “tickle-tum”
or “breakfast” or “dinner”
and “time” for my “supper”
or even “go do a pee”.
Those words all mean
something to me.
But I am not human,
so I don’t understand
exactly what you mean
when you shout
“no!” “off!” “out!”
“stand!” “down!” “sit!”
“leave!” “stay!” “wait!”
“go down!” or “be quiet!”
“over!” “heel!” or “come!”
or worse, “in your room!”
Those words are not
in my vocabulary.
Day 22 – a nature poem
Look, I am just an animal,
I’m doing what is natural.
I’m sorry if it offends you,
if it horrifies your friends too.
As I am a German Shepherd
it is in my nature to herd,
therefore when I’m after a bird
I’d prefer you’d say not a word.
I enjoy chasing a bunny,
I know you don’t think that’s funny.
and I like rolling in fox poo:
it’s the natural thing to do.
Cats and dogs out in the jungle
would never be seen to mingle,
so don’t be at all angry please
that I bark at next door’s Siamese.
You’d like me to stop doing what
is natural to me? I’ll not!
I’m just a creature of nature
you have decided to nurture.
I’m not keen on all that you do
so I’ll make a bargain with you:
I’ll stop if, when we’re in our den,
you’d play with me, put down your pen.
Day 23 – a history poem
I’m pure White GSD
with a good pedigree
but it’s a mystery
why in my history
there’s a Black Gypsy,
and a Dark Lucky!
RIN TIN TIN
Mum once told me a good story
of a dog well known in history,
a star of the silent movie.
Like me he was a GSD.
I want to be like Rin Tin Tin,
do agility shows and win,
but I’m pretty bad at training
and am still at the beginning
so I think my chance is quite slim
that I’d ever be famous like him.
Day 24 – a moment Poem
I’ve special moments in my day:
when you pick up my ball to play,
when you come down during the night
just as it’s starting to get light,
when you give me a tickle-tum,
when I hear your car coming home,
when I hear your key in the door,
or when we have a shake-a-paw,
when you get my collar and lead,
when you fill my bowl for my feed,
when you say “Right, it must be time…”
These all are the moments that I’m
always waiting for, when I’m sure
I’ll be likely to receive your
rare undivided attention
(getting treats goes without mention).
Not so special is when you shout
to tell me to “get down” or “go out”,
“no” “don’t bite” or “leave next door’s cat”.
But for you I will accept that.
If I don’t always toe the line
ANY of your attention’s fine.
I’ll accept that you are busy
and cannot spend all day with me.
Understand when I’m around you
moments that I don’t like are few.
Whenever you’re near I am glad,
whenever you’re gone I am sad.
There once was a dog called Yogi,
a grand champion GSD,
who got it together
with Willow, my mother,
and the result of their coupling was me!
Day 25 – an across the sea poem
Auntie’s in Canada, across the sea
but next week she’s coming to visit me
because it’s Mum’s seventieth birthday.
I like it when she’s here because we play.
If I stand up tall on my tippi-toes
I’ll be able to reach up to her nose.
Last time I could only reach to her chin
to give her a kiss, much to her chagrin.
She don’t like my kisses, I can’t think why,
pushes me away from her when I try.
I don’t understand, I feel in a muddle
’cos she likes a hug and a doggy cuddle.
Day 26 – write a poem using words invented by Shakespeare
ODE TO MY BLANKET
O blanket, I love thee
I’ve never chewed thee before
but now that I’ve started
I’ll chew thee some more.
When Mum comes back in
she’ll throw an epileptic fit
so when she finds out
I’ll have to grovel a bit.
I lie here jaded, accused .
You say it was I who abused
the blanket in my bedroom?
This is character assassination!
You only have circumstantial
evidence surely? But I cannot tell
you a monumental barefaced lie.
I will have to admit it was actually I.
Don’t just stand there in amazement.
I was feeling lonely and discontent
and then suddenly I started puking.
I couldn’t face your rebuking,
and so at dawn, in my defence,
I tried to destroy the evidence.
I’ll bet you’ll never be able to forgive me
for my remorseless, premeditated savagery.
Please don’t rant at me or torture me.
Please don’t eyeball me like that.
I’m a worthless hound I know but
it’s an addiction to chewing I’ve got.
Can we compromise or negotiate?
I’ll go without treats for a maybe a week?
I’ll grovel at your feet, if only you’d speak
kindly to me again. Please be generous
I beg you. I feel so gloomy when I arouse
your anger. I’m ashamed, blushing in disgrace.
Please don’t send me back to my birthplace.
Words Shakespeare coined are in italics.
Day 27 – a looking back poem
I’m sitting in the back
of Mum’s car in my crate
as the guy in the truck
behind us mouths “Hi Mate!”
What are we doing here
stuck in this traffic jam?
I’m supposed to be there
by six ten, so I am
going to be very late
for my training school date.
Travelling through rush hour
each week we have to drive
but just last week, oh dear,
I didn’t even arrive.
Day 28 – a matter or antimatter poem
“What is the matter? Please don’t cry.”
It wasn’t my fault, honestly.
I swear by my headless duck I
didn’t kill that big bumble bee.
And I swear by my duckless head
I really tried to set him free
but he flew in then dropped down dead
and lay there right in front of me.
His legs were wiggling all akimbo.
I picked him up but he kept wriggling
He stung my mouth, boy it hurts so.
Have you something for a bee-sting?
Day 29 – a what nobody else knows poem
ANGELS WHITE HEAVEN
I know something known by nobody else.
I feel, hear, see with my sixth sense.
I know that fairies wander out at night.
I watch them dance around in the moonlight.
I see them swinging from off our lamp post,
riding on moonbeams sprinkling fairy dust
and spinning down on dandelion cotton
I see them scattering cherry blossom.
I see the ghosts of your two dogs as well.
I feel their presence, and can sniff their smell.
I see them sometimes, then they disappear,
and at night when you’re fast asleep I hear
them calling you. So I bark to wake you.
You just think that I’m trying to make you
come downstairs to give me some attention.
You cannot see into this dimension.
But they are still here with you all the time.
They sent me here from the Rainbow Bridge. I’m
here ’til you can be united again,
your guardian White Angel sent from Heaven.
Day 30 – a “Bury the *****” poem
BURY THE BONE
The Bone is dead. Gone.
Clawed, gnawed, pawed, dead and buried.
Long live the new Bone.
Let’s bury the chew
It’s all finished, April is gone.
With other poets I’ve padded on.
I’ve had a chew, buried my bone.
Now I must run, our PAD is done.
Of vegetables I have written,
told of damage to a machine,
told a secret, honest I’ve been
in admission, confessed a sin.
Told of pigeons who annoy me,
of Auntie from across the sea,
puzzled about the mystery
of black in my white history.
I’ve said there’s no art or science
can beget my accweescence.
It’s my natural resistance
to authority, my defiance.
I’ve been besmirched, my tail has sagged.
Apologised, I’ve even nagged
when in season off I was dragged.
to be doctored. My tail still wagged.
I’ve spoken words coined by our bard,
shown how I’ve dared to swing the lead,
shown the boss just how much I’ve cared,
looked back and aired moments we’ve shared.
My departure’s well overdue.
I’m away now to eat my chew.
I have to say farewell to you:
I hate goodbye, I’ll say adieu.