Sonnet for the Whelping Box
Like fat, black bumblebee, mumbling, murm'ring,
Blind creatures crawl within the confines of
A corner of our home.I dearly love
the drone of puppies learning how to sing
Expert musicians barely one day old,
They hum in harmony, with patient mother
Their favorite audience. They push each other,
Competing strongly for the milk, as bold
Gladiators in Roman rings once fought,
And then when they are filled with milk, and warm,
They gather in one friendly ,drowsy swarm,
Tooo young to dream of balls or sticks they'd caught,
But twitching just the same, as if they guessed
Their futures while still in their natal nest.
~Fred Lanting, 1972.