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I love to loaf along the fence:
So does my collie dog:
He often finds a spotted cat
Hid in a hollow log.
He’s very near as old as I
And ought to have more sense—
I’ve hammered him so many times
Along the boundary-fence.
My mother says that boundary-fence
Must surely be bewitched;
The old man says that through that fence
The neighbours are enriched;
It’s always down, and through the gaps
Our stock all get them hence—
It takes me half my time to watch
The doings of that fence.
But should you seek the reason
You won’t travel very far:
’Tis hid a mile away among
The murmuring belar:
The Jones’s block joins on to ours,
And so, in consequence,
It’s part of Polly’s work to ride
Their side the boundary-fence.
