Tired of that old wet dog feeling,
hate the way my fur mats down in the rain.
Loathe the way my howls are muted by thunder,
and the lightning just alights my disdain.
Tired of my paws aching,
From paths I’ve walked before.
Tired of no packs taking,
When I’m scratching at their doors.
Wandering in fear for survival,
sustaining on what others throw away.
Waiting on an old dog’s revival,
Cause they say every dog has it’s day.
Wicked however the bite is tempting,
An unsatisfied and unwanted lust.
Spiked leashes always preempting,
Cause a beaten dog has no trust.
–Thomas Spychalski
