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Robert W Service - Bingo
Work rating: Low

The daughter of the village Maire
Is very fresh and very fair,
            A dazzling eyeful;
She throws upon me such a spell
That though my love I dare not tell,
            My heart is sighful.
She has the cutest brown caniche,
The French for "poodle" on a leash,
            While I have Bingo;
A dog of doubtful pedigree,
Part pug or pom or chow maybe,
            But full of stingo.

The daughter of the village Maire
Would like to speak with me, I`ll swear,
            In her sweet lingo;
But parlez-vous I find a bore,
For I am British to the core,
            And so is Bingo
Yet just to-day as we passed by,
Our two dogs haulted eye to eye,
            In friendly poses;
Oh, how I hope to-morrow they
Will wag their tails in merry play,
            And rub their noses.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

The daughter of the village Maire
Today gave me a frigid stare,
            My hopes are blighted.
I`ll tell you how it came to pass . . .
Last evening in the Square, alas!
            My sweet I sighted;
And as she sauntered with her pet,
Her dainty, her adored Frolette,
            I cried: "By Jingo!"
Well, call it chance or call it fate,
I made a dash . . . Too late, too late!
            Oh, naughty Bingo!

The daughter of the village Maire
That you`ll forgive me, is my prayer
            And also Bingo.
You should have shielded your caniche:
You saw my dog strain on his leash
            And like a spring go.
They say that Love will find a way -
It definitely did, that day . . .
            Oh, canine noodles!
Now it is only left to me
To wonder - will your offspring be
            Poms, pugs or poodles?
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