There’s a dog in my head,
Tail wagging outside your door.
Paws in circles he goes to tread,
Hoping one day you’ll open the door.
Loyal like a dog who ran for the streets,
But now he returns, in soot and debris,
Cuz he’d rather live with food and heat
Than be a stray in poverty.
The puppy is small,
His bones are frail,
Once white as a sterile wall,
Dirt has painted him head to tail.
He waits, a loyal love.
He waits, with just the overhang above,
To keep him dry.
He waits, a long, sturdy love.
He doesn’t miss the leash,
He doesn’t miss the walls,
He doesn’t miss the longing,
But now that he knows what he was longing for,
He keeps his domesticated, loyal love.
He’s too soft for the world,
He misses the warmth of the home.
He waits on that porch,
Through rainy nights and flood,
Through wind and winter,
He waits.