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Dog's Life


On the fuzzy afternoon in my neighbourhood
I overheard an elderly lady, saying with...
Certain sadness in her voice..
To the man sitting on the bench, next to her..

"It is a dog's life, my dear"

He silently nodded, with mysterious
resignation and understanding displayed
on his tired, wrinkled face.
I looked at the dog, quietly stretched
on the floor, his head peacefully resting
on their feet...
"Just like a pillow" I thought.

He was calm. Looked perfectly me.
Brown,leather collar around his neck and a leash
held in old man's hand, softly tugging here
and there, almost like saying...

"You are safe, my pet, are safe"

And the dog looked back at me, our gaze met.
And I...and I..standing alone across the street
felt the dog's eyes on me. He raised his head and
looked around, than turned his head and stared at me
And I..and I read unspoken questions in his eyes...

"I see your collar, but where is your leash?
Where is your owner, you lonely passer-by?"

And I...and I...looked away, thinking....
"I'd trade my life, with this dog's life".

And the dog turned away and licked his owner's hand..
And I...and I...brushed my hand against my face
and wiped away burning tears from the corners of my eyes.

This poem is dedicated to my friend's Gwendolyn's dog Poppy.
I just drafted the poem today, and when I came home I've learned
that Gwen's Poppy was killed by a reckless motorist yesterday.

It seems that the poem just found right place.

Poppy was born on February 5, 1995 and died on January 16, 2001.

Goodbye Poppy, run around now freely (s)...wherever you are.


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