I walk up from the bus stop at the end of each weekday,

I know I’ll cause a ruckus, every step along the way.

One hundred yards, four houses, four front gardens, four closed gates,

Behind each one a canine sentinel does lie in wait.

To take this path I have to steel my nerves, or ears at least,

And take care not to get a scare from these four furry beasts.

Am I always to be hound...

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