It Walks

Six legs, two arms and often a tail It greets its own kind with an expectant wail They may well converse and they may form a pack But what do they keep in that very small sack There’s others that come bearing more heads and limbs And some that appear when the light of day dims Its plans for a peaceful encounter can fail Often the culprit has foreshortened tail Quite unlike what might occur on the X-files It doesn't spit fire but does hurl projectiles It then splits in two, it knows where each one lands And rushes them back to its other halve’s hands It’s salvo continues ’til someone cries ‘ouch!’ One half then watches the other half crouch It scans its surroundings to feed the small sack Wherever it’s from it’s then time to go back But first it must visit the red hi-vis bin The small sack, now loaded, deposited in Its travels may take it up hill or down dale Six legs, two arms and often a tail * If you don’t get this, your minds full of fog Or your brain just went south on a train It’s only the tale of one man and his dog So why don’t you read it again?