Poem 16: A Tribute to Lewis Carroll
The duck, David, not Donald
Spoke perfect English
And never quacked
But tact, he lacked
He did not like Durwood, the bowler-hatted dog
He seemed so pretentious
With his country gentleman act
And plethora of silly facts
“You should appreciate me,” the dog said.
“I am of good stock.
And with me, good friends you’ll make,
with a little give and take.”
“You are simply a snob,” said the duck.
“You do not belong with us.
You act so superior
When you are essentially inferior.”
“Your problem is obvious,” Durwood replied.
“This language you speak.
Quacking is how you should talk.
You knew it before you could walk.”
“I am advanced,” said the duck.
“A new generation and breed.
Taking us beyond the ponds
Forming new and aristocratic bonds.”
The dog laughed, stepping forward with his cane,
gently correcting his ascot.
“There are no aristocrats here except me.
And I certainly won’t ask you to tea.”
“And I will not have you over for millet and smartweed,” answered David.
“A fine treat, I must say.
Ferdinand Fox and Walter Weasel are coming today,
and I will put on a fine display.”
“What!” exclaimed the humored dog. “Are you serious?
Don’t you know why they have accepted your invitation?
They want YOU for supper.
You are indeed in a scupper!”
“Ha ha. You are wrong stupid man.
Bobby the Bobcat will be my guest too.
And I don’t like to share my grains.
My other guests will be roasted, before the evening rains.”