In Competition No. 2404 you were invited to supply a poem beginning, ‘I do not know much about gods; but …’, substituting, if you prefer, ‘dogs’ for ‘gods’.
As I know almost nothing about either, I judged this with a benevolently neutral eye. I suspect that several of you who disclaimed much knowledge of dogs were lying, but as long as you fooled me I was happy. Three of you competed for my attention — and why not? — by interpreting ‘gods’ in the sense of the upper gallery of a theatre; nobody, however, treated ‘dogs’ as andirons. The prizewinners, printed below, gods before dogs of course, get £25 each except for S.E.G. Hopkin, who is blessed with £30.
I do not know much about gods; but once
Last spring I met a charming deity,
Who told me that he felt a perfect dunce,
For he knew nothing about the laity.
He
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