Hugo of Winchester

A poem about Hugo the wire-haired Dachshund

In Winchester’s embrace, beneath the towering spire, 

Lives Hugo the brave, amidst Kingsgate’s quiet mire. 

A tiny dachshund, with wiry fur so grand, 

Trotting the cobbles, in this ancient land.

With steps so sprightly along the Itchen’s edge, 

He sniffs the secrets of each leaf and hedge. 

The river whispers tales of yore to his keen ears, 

As he explores the footpaths without any fears.

His home lies shadowed by the Cathedral’s might, 

Where Hugo and his Mum find joy and respite. 

Each morning greets them with history’s deep call, 

Wandering through streets where shadows dance and fall.

Loved dearly by his Mum, each day anew, 

Hugo’s heart is bold, his joys not few. 

This love, a shield against any looming dread, 

Lifts his tiny paws, his spirited head.

For Hugo is courageous, not just by chance, 

But nourished by love’s enduring, steadfast glance. 

Through Winchester’s alleys and by the river’s song, 

His tiny heart beats strong, where he belongs.

In the bustling village, where ancient stories weave, 

His mum’s gentle touch, a tapestry they leave. 

For love is the might that fuels his tiny chest, 

With every little step, feeling eternally blessed.

So if you wander by, near the cathedral’s glow, 

Look for the joyful pup, where the river waters flow. 

For Hugo is there with a wagging, tiny tail, 

A small dachshund with a courage that will never fail.

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