Limpy Boxer.

Ae Summer mornin, cloudy, drab,
It wisnae rainin, dinna blab,
eh seen a sicht yer heart wid grab;
Limpy Boxer.

His coat wis streakit, broon wi black,
His neb wis puggit tae the back,
he had a hirple in his walk;
Limpy Boxer.

He had fower legs, wan wis lame,
He wisnae ca'd - he never came,
I never yet fun oot his name;
Limpy Boxer.

But boxer ye seem quite content,
Although yer leg is crook'd and bent
Ye hae nae wish tae gie complent
or voice yer grumbles.

Ye simply gang aboot yer way,
Ye tak yer hirple every day,
Ye seem nae glum but aye sae gay;

Limpy Boxer.

Upon leaving my lodgings in Dundee on an August morning in 2015 I almost tripped over a wee boxer dog wi a sare leg. I wrote the poem on subsequent walks to and from work and only put the tune to it the other day.