THE DOG The dog, tail low, trots along dark wet street,

Sniffs, cocks leg at each lamp post.

Nose, wet, black, nudges an empty can, making eerie noise,

Echoing down empty street.

Ears cocked, twitching, stares about,

Barks sharply, skips off chasing black and white Tom.

Stops suddenly, too late, Tom

Has leapt the gate!

He slopes off dejected, tail low, sniffing at dropped rubbish,

His form fades in the gloom;

All is silent in wetted street. By A Chattin

Bridgeman Street, Farnworth

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.