Have today you have seen Tatters,with his eyes glossy as platters?He's a shabby little thingfor a dog – a raggy kingpatched together, as it seems,stuttering-bursting at the seams – with his rags to swirl about'cross his eyes and pugly snout,and a matty coat, dishevel'd as if in a rock – bedeviled.What he has – an ear refinedof a crook, one of a kind,sniffing 'round the henned cooptousled, lubberly – in a swoop,waiting for an hour or twofor a hen to give the cuewhen a freshly egg is laid – then it's time to give a raid. When on-farm he hath set pawmany-a-thing he learned and saw… Creepy-crawl' away he oars,stealing 'way on all his fours.Paws the egg and nozzles it,gulps it swiftly, without bid. "Where the egg?" the plumed wife asks."He hath gulped it – now he basks!""Now you wait, I'll cure you from 't, not requiring stick or broom.Now – a lesson, my dear boy."Him a boil'd one gives, uncoy.But, as soon as bolted down,Tatters jerks it with a frown,Baying-jumping up and down. When he looks at Mother Hen –a good neighbor to his pen,Tatters wonders in 'is mind: "She's a devil of some kind!"
by Tudor Arghezi (1880-1967)
