30 lines for My Jack Russell Jenny

She - for she is she no doubt - is a star in daylight.
She is not no-one, nor does she stand forth from a crowd.
She raves on occasion against a world unseen, unthought, uncaring.

She thinks perfectly imperfectly.
She speaks scottishly unscottishly.
She is americanly she who must, no doubt, be heeded.

She is the colour of cloud in temperament.
She is white on days of joy unknown but stated.
She is grey on other days, black on others still.
She is green tinge of thundered storm cloud haunting horizons of towerblocks.
She is peach sunset when without herself and setting upon a task.

She writeth in silence, and in darkness writeth words that cannot speak.
She yappeth forth upon the ears of all who would stand by her.
She speaketh in security a thought guarded and unstealable.
She stealeth time of the public.

She is far from home in a home of her own.
She has crossed seas to reach this new land, waving from shore to shore.
She lies in bed in dark when day in light the trees in leaf are swaying.
She takes the time of her homeland, spreads its blanket on this Scotland.

She assumes too much.
She assumeth the poet ridicules her, she assumeth – as always – incorrectly.

She hath five fingers to display her views of the world.
She raises her pinkie at the stupid.
She fingers ring finger at the dim light of ordinary man.
She flips middle finger to those who cross her way.
She points an index at the library of all of human life,
She lowers thumb rarely, enthusiasm lifts it up.

She, for it is she, resembles a dog in attitude.

She yappeth, writeth, speaketh, stealeth the friendship of poets.
She biteth the ankle of those who ignore her.