spring sonnet
O God grant me that greatest care—or is
It actually the lack of care—with which
My dog sees all your earth and doesn’t miss
A single leaf: a look that doesn’t list
But leaps from butterfly to stick to ball,
Or one more piece of trash, or some old sock;
Two bashful browning eyes that I could call
My sight, and I would joy around the clock.
I’ll pass on taste or smell like his O Lord,
And as for hearing: well, I think it best
He keep that too. Just this I would implore—
My sight improve; the dogs can have the rest.
To think how many wondrous sights I’d see,
Were dog-like love and wonder given me!