Not a bark, but a yodel, a song unheard,
The Basenji’s voice, a secret softly purred.
A sleek, smooth coat, the color of burnt toast,
He moves with grace, a phantom, coast to coast.
With wrinkled brow and ears so alert,
He hunts with focus, silent and adept.
His gaze, intense, his steps, as light as air,
A desert wind, a whisper, everywhere.
Though independent, a spirit wild and free,
He craves affection, your touch, your knee.
A playful glint in his dark, expressive eyes,
He’ll shower you with yodels, a joyful surprise.
He stalks his toys, a silent, playful dance,
Then melts beside you, a warm, furry trance.
A paradox of stillness and playful chase,
The yodeling Basenji, leaving not a trace.
So listen closely, for the sound unseen,
The Basenji’s spirit, a joyful, silent scene.
He’ll yodel his love, in a language all his own,
A loyal companion, never quite alone.