i bore to you a houndly frolic,
every rise and fall,
my backwords barkened by the rollick,
unheedy my call,

you gouged my grip, in scented slip,
for every phantom sniff,
and all that was, was lost because,
of wandering what if,

I bore to you a houndly frolic,
every fall and rise,
where winter whittled worry,
and unheedy went my cries,

your absence cast my echo,
in collide-a-scope collapse,
and all that is, was fleeting fizz,
for petulant perhaps,

so you tottered in a circle broken,
down on widdershins,
to engrave what must be left unspoken,
save by bitter grins,
upon the insides of my eyelids,
whence now even shorn and shuttered,
doth the vision of derision,
that the bitter grins have muttered,
cast it's kindling, sharp and spindling,
on the clenching of sightlesson,
so I'm sealing every feeling,
just to keep my keep from guessing,

Followers of haws