The Throwaway
I peer in her nighttime eyes,
Those that once lived on the street,
And sense a depth of weeping,
By cracked city curbs with grief.
She was “sold” to me in a little pink sweater,
No longer was her owner to keep her,
Not vicious is she, just afraid
Too many have misunderstood her.
Found in a parking lot,
Found again by a lonesome single,
Abandoned afraid in favor of a new baby,
She couldn’t know what I know, and
She can’t suspect now how I love her,
I stare warmth into her pensive eyes,
She no longer tries to run away,
Is she pondering, brooding, resigned?
Oh, Lord keep us sheltered through her doggy years,
That she feel contented, safe,
She’s had no control over her short little life, and
She can’t even suspect how I love her today.
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