Sam
·𐑕𐑨𐑥
a brilliant little dog
was our Sam
a feisty Jack Russell
he would sit
with his back legs crossed
aristocratic
aloof
and wait for the railway workers
three times a day
the big siren would sound
haunting
and thousands of Lowry-esque guys
on bicycles
would spill forth
peddling home
Sam’s ears would prick
he’d look up the street
and get ready
dozens of legs
going up and down
trying to shuck him off
in his deadly
game of bones
one time he was missing
for days
we got a phone call
that he had been seen
sitting in the middle of the road
over four miles away
traffic streaming both sides
unconcerned
insouciant legs
crossed
𐑩 𐑚𐑮𐑧𐑤𐑾𐑯𐑑 𐑤𐑦𐑑𐑩𐑤 𐑛𐑪𐑜
𐑢𐑪𐑟 𐑬𐑼 ·𐑕𐑨𐑥
𐑩 𐑓𐑲𐑕𐑑𐑦 ·𐑡𐑨𐑒 𐑮𐑪𐑕𐑩𐑤
𐑣𐑰 𐑢𐑫𐑛 𐑕𐑦𐑑
𐑢𐑦𐑞 𐑣𐑦𐑟 𐑚𐑨𐑒 𐑤𐑧𐑜𐑟 𐑒𐑮𐑪𐑕𐑛
𐑨𐑮𐑦𐑕𐑑𐑩𐑒𐑮𐑨𐑑𐑦𐑒
𐑩𐑤𐑵𐑓
𐑯 𐑢𐑱𐑑 𐑓 𐑞 𐑮𐑱𐑤𐑢𐑱 𐑢𐑼𐑒𐑼𐑟
𐑞𐑮𐑰 𐑑𐑲𐑥𐑟 𐑩 𐑛𐑱
𐑞 𐑚𐑦𐑜 𐑕𐑲𐑮𐑩𐑯 𐑢𐑫𐑛 𐑕𐑬𐑯𐑛
𐑣𐑷𐑯𐑑𐑦𐑙
𐑯 𐑞𐑬𐑟𐑩𐑯𐑛𐑟 𐑓 ·𐑤𐑬𐑮𐑦𐑧𐑕𐑒 𐑜𐑲𐑟
𐑪𐑯 𐑚𐑲𐑕𐑦𐑒𐑩𐑤𐑟
𐑢𐑫𐑛 𐑕𐑐𐑦𐑤 𐑓𐑹𐑔
𐑐𐑧𐑛𐑩𐑤𐑦𐑙 𐑣𐑴𐑥
·𐑕𐑨𐑥𐑟 𐑽𐑟 𐑢𐑫𐑛 𐑐𐑮𐑦𐑒
𐑣𐑰𐑛 𐑤𐑫𐑒 𐑳𐑐 𐑞 𐑕𐑑𐑮𐑰𐑑
𐑯 𐑜𐑧𐑑 𐑮𐑧𐑛𐑦
𐑛𐑳𐑟𐑩𐑯𐑟 𐑓 𐑤𐑧𐑜𐑟
𐑜𐑴𐑦𐑙 𐑳𐑐 𐑯 𐑛𐑬𐑯
𐑑𐑮𐑲𐑦𐑙 𐑑 𐑖𐑳𐑒 𐑣𐑦𐑥 𐑪𐑓
𐑦𐑯 𐑣𐑦𐑟 𐑛𐑧𐑛𐑤𐑦
𐑜𐑱𐑥 𐑝 𐑚𐑴𐑯𐑟
𐑢𐑪𐑯 𐑑𐑲𐑥 𐑣𐑰 𐑢𐑪𐑟 𐑥𐑦𐑕𐑦𐑙
𐑓 𐑛𐑱𐑟
𐑢𐑰 𐑜𐑪𐑑 𐑩 𐑓𐑴𐑯 𐑒𐑷𐑤
𐑞𐑨𐑑 𐑣𐑰 𐑣𐑨𐑛 𐑚𐑰𐑯 𐑕𐑰𐑯
𐑕𐑦𐑑𐑦𐑙 𐑦𐑯 𐑞 𐑥𐑦𐑛𐑩𐑤 𐑓 𐑞 𐑮𐑴𐑛
𐑴𐑝𐑼 𐑓𐑹 𐑥𐑲𐑤𐑟 𐑩𐑢𐑱
𐑑𐑮𐑨𐑓𐑦𐑒 𐑕𐑑𐑮𐑰𐑥𐑦𐑙 𐑚𐑴𐑔 𐑕𐑲𐑛𐑟
𐑳𐑯𐑒𐑪𐑯𐑕𐑼𐑯𐑛
𐑦𐑯𐑕𐑵𐑕𐑦𐑪𐑯𐑑 𐑤𐑧𐑜𐑟
𐑒𐑮𐑪𐑕𐑛
