With ears that sweep the ground they grace,
And wrinkles worn with a comical face,
The Basset Hound, a lumbering soul,
Holds a heart of pure, playful gold.
Legs like sausages, short and stout,
His belly drags, leaving trails of doubt
About his speed, but never his charm,
A waddle so comical, it sets off alarms
Of laughter and smiles, his soulful brown eyes,
Reflecting mischief and puppy-like guise.
His nose eternally glued to the ground,
Scents untold, in each patch he’s found.
A symphony of snores, his nighttime song,
Dreaming of treats, where he doesn’t belong.
But wake him with kibble, his tail wags a beat,
The lowrider king, on happy dog feet.
Loyal and loving, a gentle giant in soul,
He’ll cuddle beside you, making you whole.
So raise a paw to the Basset so grand,
The king of the lowriders, forever at hand.