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“The Blank Somebody’s left the garden gate ajar; He won’t run out. No need to back the car So carefully because . . . And in the hall You will not trip against that much-chewed ball (I bought a new one, just a week ago, For his next birthday. He will never know). We’ve cleared up everything; there’s not a trace- Lead, collar, basket -- yet his wistful face Peers round each corner; halfway down the stair One turns expectant . . . surely he is there? Then you remember, and the silence dear Answers our question. “No, he is not here.” — Joe Walker
The Blank
Somebody’s left the garden gate ajar;
He won’t run out. No need to back the car
So carefully because . . . And in the hall
You will not trip against that much-chewed ball
(I bought a new one, just a week ago,
For his next birthday. He will never know).
We’ve cleared up everything; there’s not a trace-
Lead, collar, basket -- yet his wistful face
Peers round each corner; halfway down the stair
One turns expectant . . . surely he is there?
Then you remember, and the silence dear
Answers our question. “No, he is not here.