Spencer stood by the boundary fence
Observing the passing scene.
His noble visage proudly shone,
His profile classic, his bright eyes keen.
He gazed upon adjacent land
With proprietary air,
And silently observed the view
Of events enacted there.
The wind caressed his tousled locks,
His coat was damp, but clean,
And only snow upon his feet
Showed where he had been.
Keenly attuned to every sound
Spencer kept his poise.
He made no response, though he surely heard, Every far-off noise.

With dignity and perfect calm
Etched on his regal face,
He held himself apart from all
The drama he saw taking place.
But his volatile neighbor across the way
Took exception to cars being parked.
He voiced his displeasure in strident tones,
And then — Spencer barked.
— Dagmar Frahme
— Rays from the Rose Cross Magazine, January/February, 1996