by e. GENE MYERS
Please God, help me for I see hell
in the eyes of a mangy dog.
She crawled to my carport yesterday morn
nearly dead in the morning fog.
She laid her head on a cast out rug,
too weak to travel on,
a mud caked face and a shaking body
and her spirit almost gone.
Broken and bent, too weak to drink,
she stayed throughout the day.
I gave her water to show I cared,
but hoped she’d go away.
Night time came and with it peace
for the dog I could not see.
I’d heard her bark about one o’clock.
I cried for her … yes, me.
Me. The guy who shot the squirrels
the lizards and polliwogs,
and left their carcasses for all to see
drying on rotting logs.
I cried , yes me, for this was life,
too special to die this way.
In the morning mist I saw her spirit.
God put her here to stay.
I gave her food. She gave me joy.
Who got the better deal?
She got warmth within her stomach.
her gratitude’s what I feel.
Her tail still wags, though her eyes cry,
her body’s still twisted and broken,
But now there’s hope in her teary gray eyes.
For two needing souls have spoken.