The Dog's At My Door
The dog whines
at my door
yet I cannot move
from my bed.
It's all too much,
it 's much better
to stay here,
warm and safe,
the effort of moving
is beyond me
at the movement,
perhaps forever.
For if I moved,
I'd have to dress
and to decide on
underwear, socks
shirt and pants,
it's all too much.
Yet now the dog's
wet nose is in my face,
her tongue on my cheek,
she has forced her way
into my sanctum
demanding her walk,
her food,
and I must move
to serve her.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
