The Dog by Shamik Banerjee

Loud is your bark in midnight’s dark
Within your dog-run alley;
When the Sun’s out, you gad about
The homes and dilly-dally.
When whizzing cars like falling stars
Within your region, pace,
Then armed in group, you fiercely troop
To nab them from their race.
With all the chummy maids and men,
You act so lovably,
But to a man of an alien clan,
You are a catastrophe;
And every day, you come to stay
Beneath our rafter shade
And intently, then rise to see
If the pullen broth’s made;
And then you beg licking her leg—
My mother, when she’s come.
She gives a bone and that alone
Fills up your little tum.