By L. Mitchell Thornton
A little black dog with a wistful eye
Stood in the gutter as I went by;
And he wagged his tail in a friendly way.
But I told myself that I would not stay
To get a puppy, who chanced to see
A gullible passerby in me.
I walked a block, but I couldn’t find
A single thing I could keep in mind
Except the look in a wistful eye
And a tail that wagged, as I hastened by;
And all the things I had counted great
I found could, every one of them, wait.
The air was damp, and the sky was grey,
Hard to be friendless on such a day;
So I turned at the corner, just to see
If a small black puppy had followed me.
And there he was in the chill and fog –
And that’s how Casper became my dog.