Puppy Lament
By Derek Walsh
Little dog, you lie there slowly dying
howls of pain, to me, you sing
god shows a way to stop this poor crying
fly away sweetly on death's black wing.
Doggie, you lie there clinging to life
as the viruses eat away your inside
why must you clasp to the last strains of strife
when from this crippling pain you can truly hide.
Dog, you fought well but the battle is over
the cold grip of death pulls hard on your leash
parasites feast upon the brain of poor Rover
soon to be corpse where maggots shall feast
Copyright © 2002; Irish Poetry Explosion. All Rights Reserved.