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Your dog

Death was a dog,
Panting at your doorstep,
And you so kindly let him in.
You brought out wool blankets,
Filled his bowl with water,
And let him sleep on your kitchen floor.

He never barked or chewed wood,
Never once soiled the carpet.
He sat and waited patiently,
Paws crossed and tail still.
So you took a leash and collar,
And led him out the door.

He tangled and tugged the leash,
Biting your ankles and tripping you over.
He was undisciplined and cruel,
His thinning fur raised on his spine.
Your warm hands grew red then white,
As the lead wrapped about your wrist.

Here I am, a dog,
Howling at your doorstep,
Yet you’re too far from home.
So I sit and I wait knowing,
Aware that the lights are not on.
Still held by my leash and collar,
Even though I should move on.

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Comments

This is a well-scripted poem. Nice characterization of death as a dog, the friendliest of animal to man. Yet ironic it's depiction here. Very mature and enjoyable read.

After reading the poem about your father, I do think that I understand.
Your father felt that he couldn't deal with it, so he didn't.
I understand that. It takes a very brave person to write about something
that is so close to them. I think I see that death is still waiting,
even though he knows that there is no understanding that he is there, just waiting.
A good poem that takes a little background and thinking, but one that shows
where you are. ~ Geezer.
.

It seems that the days and hours that people
are available for chatroom are staggered and
not a good match for most everyone. How about
if everyone just shows up at the door, whenever
they have a few free minutes?

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