I'm no poem for your sprog but I wrote a poem about dogs and I didn't really show it off anywhere. other than one subreddit. Wrote it for these little guys

We took the killers, gave them food,
we let them in our den.
We made them kill for our own good,
we made them tools of men.
"That's right, my hound! Go, do my will,
rip off their tiny heads!
Show me where you left the kill!
Go, take me to the dead!"
And so the killers found a home,
a purpose, and a plan.
In payment, given meat and bone,
within the halls of man.
But plenty came and soon it was,
the hunts had gone away.
The beasts we made were bored because
their purpose was the prey.
A hunter with no thing to track,
cannot a hunter be,
And yet we couldn't let them go,
because we came to see
Although their job had been to be
a beast to lead the chase
That job was gone, all men could see.
But love had took its place.
Their fur, their warmth, their little sounds
a little sighing breath,
How could we part with our sweet hounds,
We'd take them to our death.
And so it was the hunts were done,
But hounds were anxious still.
They could not soon forget the runs,
the chasing and the kill.
The beast was there, it couldn't shirk
the present primal need.
It long'd to do its ugly work
'twas written in its breed.
And since they now were in our hearts,
we gave them toys to kill.
Things of cloth and squeaky parts,
to simulate the thrill.
So when your dog rips up its toys
you'd bought that very day
He only feeds the savage joys
that brought his kind our way.
So when the deed is good and done
when toy has met its end.
Say to him as though he's won,
"Well done, my faithful friend."