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Poetry
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| Bingo the Lad and James Trout | |
| By bwoz | ||||||||||
| 13 February 2007 | ||||||||||
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Just a kiddy poem about a dog I had once. Please excuse the cliches and sentimental twists -- dogs and fish do that to me. Bingo, the lad, awoke the early morn to dash through the door and sprint 'round the barn then back to the lodge and up through the trees all legs and ears and light as the breeze. Such was his intent one crisp, autumn day when he sprang to his feet and dashed off to play. Out the screen door, SLAM!, just running like heck. He stopped near the edge of a brook to reflect. There in the shallows of the cool water brook swam his old friend, James, idle in the nook. "Good morning, James, on this bright new day. How would you like to come join me in play?" But James just shifted his tail and he shook. "I'd like to young lad, but I'm doomed to this brook. I can't venture out for the air is too dry. I would love to play, but I’d rather not die." "Oh, come on," Bingo laughed, "it's not as bad as that not like I'm asking you to dance with a cat." "Now listen, and listen good, you eager young fool. My fate is that I must remain in this pool. You're free as a lark, but you don't understand, I wouldn't survive ten minutes on dry land. So please," James pled, "just go on your way. Badger someone else to join in your play." But Bingo was eager and so adventure bent, and being so young had little good sense. Crouched like a coil he sprang to the brook; SPLASH!, head first and that's all it took. James went airborne and lit in tall grass. He flopped and he twitched and he started to gasp. In horror he lay there in total distress. The chickens, having never seen a trout, were impressed. Fate had, at last, caught James by surprise. He lay there thinking thoughts a fish thinks when he dies. “I’ve lived too good a life to come to this end; teased and tormented then snuffed by a friend”. Bingo stood quietly, with nothing to say, then was off on a chase with the old robber jay.
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