Stars glimmer, prance, in the night
as the howling moon calls to the wayward wind;
"bring all the little doggies home".
Crisply the night reigns them in.
Their thick hides huddle closer together
not letting a whistle pass.
The nights' sweltering embrace
leaves all straggling doggies cold to the bone.
They nearly stampeded home ...
flinging their dust in my eyes.
Tiring, they lower, put their trust in me,
go wherever I lead them.
Eyes mist for the creatures going to slaughter;
they've got a price on their heads.
Me? I'm addicted the west's wayward winds,
poking along the trails,
with the moon peeking over the horizon.
Her shimmering glances calm, entrance souls ...
bringing the little doggies home.