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P
ONTO what a clever fellow, classed among my truest friends, Genial as a summer sunbeam -- each remark he comprehends; Dressed in black " a trifle shaggy," should he work, or should he play, While he wore a nice white collar (not of leather) every day. He was with us every minute, full of fun and tricks alike, Hardly time he took for eating, morning, noon or even night. So you see his numerous "callings" kept him busy as a bee; Running with the other children, when he got away from me. He explained a host of puzzles, for the children in our school And he got a, host of prizes, for his "essays" as a rule, I remember all the answers--just recorded in my head-- As it would not do to write them, this the better way instead. Father liked the little fellow, and how oft I now recall How they entertained each other, in the summer and the fall; Yes, in fact, through all the seasons, as in sunshine, so in rain, So I keep the picture living, in the cells we term the brain. But the home, we all have left it, and the little dog likewise; Not a one is left to welcome, in the realm of fairy skies. And I feel a pang of hunger, as I pass along that way For the "crumbs" from that home table, where we all have been to play! |