Gateway to the Classics: Display Item
Rachel Lyman Field

To See-Saw

I shall never see you run

Through the orchard any more,

Or hear the scratching of your paws

In early morning at my door.

I shall never watch your tail

Saying you are glad of me,

Or know at meals your eyes are turned

Upon my plate reproachfully.

I shall never see you sleep

Like a ball curled in the sun,

Or feel your nose pressed in my hand,

Now all your dear dog days are done.