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Glistening furred black mutt, derriers cut off
by the kitchen linear wall, lapping her dish,
obliviously engaged, harbored, loved, saved...
from scavenging canine primal ancestral rage.
Scattered back leg hair, comspicuously erect,
eating is a must, call her she'll come...
wagging her tail, delighted enthralled.
Thrown a ball, quickly out in the hall,
plastic bone, caught in the air...
she'll leap, then run, "Come over here."
Hearing your call she'll not tarry at all.
Mixed Labrador, a stranger's neglect,
a breeder's reject, only a pet.
We've had others before, decades and more,
time slipping fast... nothing quite lasts.
29th December 2001
Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York, USABack to The Poems of Roy Schoenberg