a/n: a third collection of poems which have been added to by a variety of authors. Thanks again to all :) The poems below belong to the authors listed.

And yet more authors…

Tic(k)s

by goldvermilion87

Each month with one pipette I dose my pup,

My Arthur, with some liquid Frontline Plus ™

To kill the ticks that on his blood would sup,

And induce lyme, and produce scabs and pus.

Just so, I wish, had Doyle destroyed the "tic"

That crept into a country doctor's prose

And made what had been perfect meter sick

And made the hopeful fangirl shout, "O NOES!"

Perhaps if I had understood sprung rhythm

I would've done a Hopkins with the words

But since I don't, I can do nothing with 'em

That's not (me-TER-ic-AL-ly) for the birds

If only in iambs did the words resound:

"They were the footprints of a giant hound!"

MV

The Hippopotamus of the Baskervilles

by Catherine Spark

It gave us such a big surprise

A thing with awful glowing eyes,

A brownish shape with tree-trunk feet

Burst from the mist, we did retreat.

MVMVMV

Holmes said: "I thought he had a hound!

How do we hunt this beast down?

Where did he keep it all these years?"

(Lestrade was by this time in tears).

MVMVMV

Its mouth was wide and it did yawn,

And plodded ominously on.

We felt so helpless standing there

Sir Henry too could only stare.

MVMVMV

Holmes fired at it, so did I…

But – alas – it would not die!

Our bullets just bounced off its skin:

So thick that nothing could get in.

MVMVMV

The beast made one last mighty rush

Towards Sir Henry, for to crush,

We ran but it was far too late –

The hippo's head start was too great.

MVMVMV

But Providence was on our side,

Because the sheer weight of its hide

Did drag it down into the mire,

Where it did sink, there to expire.

MV

Moor Remorse

by Hades Lord of the Dead

It was a dog, which I had shot,

And stopped it in its tracks.

I didn't give a second thought,

Fear had all thoughts hijacked.

MVMVMV

It was a pet, which I had met,

And now myself I do curse,

For my bullet must indeed have set,

Its health to grow much worse.

MVMVMV

It is remorse, from which the source,

Is this same dog and pet.

Most scared and terrified, of course,

Of any hound I've ever met.

MVMVMV

It was a dog, which I had shot,

To save Sir Henry from the pain,

But now I wish that I had not,

Made this the last spot it had lain.

MV