For Bobby

By John I. Blair

Young warrior of the street and yard
Returned once more, tired, battle-scarred,
Trusting to find a welcome here;
Come in, come in, let down your guard!

Father to many, brother to none,
You took your stroll, you had your fun;
Through insect-murmurous night so sweet
Faster than sight you made your run.

Now pace the floor demanding food;
Curl up awhile, keep my chair warm;
I am your servant, at your call.
No need to tell adventures rude;
How near to bliss, how near to harm;
Your feathered whiskers say it all.

©1978 John I. Blair