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Midge
Just before the ridge there sat a wooden bridge
And it's planks had been in place a year or two.
In the grass almost forgotten was a log which had gone rotten
And was hollow end to end the whole way through.
Inside the rotten log there lived a lonely dog
No-one loved him so he didn't have a name.
He sat there all forlorn and watched a golden dawn
Scratched his ear and whimpered in his shame.
He trotted into town just to have a look around
And to see if someone would like to love a pet
But when he drew up close people slapped him on the nose
And a bruise seemed all that he would get.
Battered, bruised and confused and a little bit bemused
He slowly limped his way back to his log.
I'd be a faithful little friend right until the very end
He went inside and cried, this little dog.
One night a raging storm which was really not the norm,
Swelled the river flowing underneath the bridge
And unknown to the town the flood was flying down
From the slopes and gullies of the ridge.
The little dog just ran to warn the nearest man
Of the danger rolling downwards in the dark
And the town began to shout as they got the people out
Thanks to the little dog's frenzied bark.
With the morn' the flood had passed, everyone safe at last
But the little dog was nowhere to be found.
Then came a cry, a sobbing voice screamed, Why?
His little body lying lifeless on the ground.
An iron bridge painted brown now sits above the town
The rotten log was long since thrown away.
Pride of place on the bridge is a plaque for little Midge
And the sacrifice he made that stormy day.
Copyright ©
Ian Jones
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