I, Gabble Retchet

the mongrel paws
shortbread snow
piled at the drive’s end

his bay fades
in a frozen huff
halfway to the door

inside she bakes cookies
humming a lullaby
in which she still believes

again he slinks to his rocky haunt
to wait for spring
the feel of water on his face forgotten

 

R L Raymond

From Half Myths & Quarter Legends

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