The Low-Riding Bark Brigade

At the edge of the marsh where the river wind sings,
Two little Corgis do marvelous things.
Cody, the brown one, bold with his disc,
Chases the air like he’s chasing a wish.

Molly, in black, with a white tufted snout,
Finds joy in the sticks that the trees toss about.
She trots with a pride that’s calm and complete,
A queen in the grass with the world at her feet.

They bark at the shepherds, the doodles, the rest—
Not out of meanness, but canine jest.
Their tails are short but their spirits are tall,
They rule the green paths and the slopes of the fall.

Their friend is a gentleman, steady and kind,
With peace in his eyes and a thoughtful mind.
Each morning he leads them by waters and tree,
Where hawks sometimes circle and children run free.

In Inwood they wander, near water and stone,
In fields where the footballers train and groan.
Together they walk, a trio so true,
With noses to ground and a sky painted blue.

Oh Cody and Molly, so joyful and bright,
Two stubby explorers in soft morning light.
If you’re in the woods when the wild geese fly,
You might hear their bark echo under the sky.