III: Ungrateful Patron

So furrowed is his brow and are his eyes,

and grudgingly he looks as I stand up.

No move he makes, no efforts as to rise,

as heedless as an empty drunkard's cup.

Now go I to the sink to wash a bowl,

and suddenly my work is of his mind.

So now my movements are his every goal,

requiring all his voice and moves in kind.

"'tis merely noon," protest I to the cur,

approaching me with innocence and woo.

"I'll hear no praise, nor yet thy sweetest purr,

so go back, do whate'er it is you do!"

The enemy shall win, and I relent,

an offering of milk will soon be spent.