11 AUGUST 1961, Page 20

Dead Dog

One day I found a lost dog in the street.

The hairs about its grin were spiked with blood, And it lay still as stone. It must have been A little dog, for though I only stood Nine inches for each one of my four years, I picked it up and took it home. My mother Squealed, and later father spaded out A bed and tucked my mongrel down in mud.

I can't remember any feeling but A moderate pity, cool not lachrymose: Almost a godlike feeling now it seems. My lump of dog was ordinary as bread; I have no recollection of the school Where I was taught this terror of the dead.