Old Banger

He is a mere mortal one born to die And in that respect I'm no different to him of that fact I won't lie Thirteen going on fourteen for a dog that is old And he has fathered puppies as I have been told. Perhaps he might live for a year or two more Old Banger the brown short haired dachshund next door Gray around the muzzle the years on him tell But one might say the Seasons he has worn well. Perhaps his kind the smallest member of the race of hound Long back, short legs and big stomach that almost touches the ground With a friendly disposition and for his years quite game He is dachshund by nature and dachshund by name. Old Banger to greet me he never does fail Each time he sees me he wags his short brown tail Soon with Mother Nature he is destined to lay And his lot it too will be my lot one day.