The Superdog

My Tigre was that superdog.
A shade of smoke, a touch of black,
his coat was dense, as thick as fog.
Oh, what a treat to have him back

in dreams of meadows while I jog,
still beautifying speeds I lack!
But time plays tricks, its ugly flog
now whips my thoughts right back on track.

And here I am, six lives his age.
No superdog, but only a dream
of sterling hope, a war I wage

against my flesh that reigns supreme.
And yet, I write one other page…
with canine thoughts… that joyous gleam.​

I think the beat, dominated by several pure iambic tetrameters and even-syllable stresses, is mostly there. One “anomaly” -besides staying away from “the monarch” i.e., the pentameter- is the use of a rhyme pattern that is characteristic of classic Spanish poetry: ABAB-ABAB-CDC-DCD.

While admittedly over a cup of coffee, hey… it is what it is. It was actually inspired by another user’s unyielding love for his pets.

 

Es muy bueno, en un gran ingles, por cierto.
Muchas gracias