BEAGLE Poem by Hubert van Herreweghen

It's a smell and you must find its location,
a trace, and not a place to abide.
I who adored its titillation,
which pierced my young nostrils' inside,
I point my nose to every station
like a beagle, well-qualified,
paws extended, ears open wide.
It's a smell and you must find its location,
a trace, and not a place to abide.
The scents that blur my smell's operation,
poor poppy seed and sticky pie,
in larders the curdled milk's fermentation,
the sour decay in the ice hole spied.
The honey that's peonies' and limes' creation,
leads me astray and extends my paws wide,
and my wet nose turns to every station.
It's a smell and you must find its location,
a trace, and not a place to abide.