Ermenegildo Tiraboschi
Poeta que considera el portal su segunda casa
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.
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.
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