You poor sweet pooch,
You look at me with eyes so big,
You’ll break my heart, I have no choice,
How hurts my inner voice,
No one wants you sweetie,
Too many, are there of your kind,
Don’t look at me like that, no please,
I feel as falling on my knees,
To beg forgiveness to hold you tight,
Go with you to that other world,
My heart it hurts to stay behind,
No comfort in my soul I find,
Money, not love that runs the show,
Laws with that not interfere,
Profit margins are what count,
Your stay, is costing money to the pound,
As long as money flows, the more they breed,
Greedy masters that gave you birth,
You look at me; give me your paw,
I hear you feel, is there no law,
Another piece of my heart it breaks,
Not much soul is left in me,
Hurting again a creature, why?
When will it stop oh lord, I cry?
Your little heart it beats so loud,
I hear, to heaven it does shout,
In my arms you lay now still,
This o God, can’t what you will,
Again a nurse she calls my name,
No shame there is, just work,
Look what have we here, she says,
Close she holds him, one last caress,
Another knife it cuts so deep,
More slivers of my heart it takes,
Thousands more to come this year,
My heart is smaller now I fear,
Too many every day come in,
Unwanted, wandering the streets,
Towns and city pounds are filled,
All those precious souls, soon all be killed,
Profit not there is but taxes cold,
So city fathers thought it best,
Gas the cheapest way there is,
How has it come to this?
Cries of terror wait for death,
Of loving creatures large and small,
Huddled tight and fighting breath,
So profit margins we could bless,
No tours of children on an out,
No bragging place this is,
No one knows, or shouts out loud,
Their cries not heard, by the common crowd,
Now let me ask, if your heart it really cares,
And a candidate asks for your vote,
Press him hard to change the laws,
The law, that hurts a gentle paw,
Truly press him hard and deep,
To close down breeders, puppy mills,
Press him hard insisting still,
Might get your vote he will,
And if you truly really care,
This story you will share,
With all you know, so they might too,
Make effort what to do,
If still you hear a cry of fear or terror,
In the lonesome of the night,
Make a nightshirt of your soul, wrap it around yourself,
And the soul that in the pound you found.©17/11/2010
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Unwanted, wandering the streets,
Towns and city pounds are filled,
All those precious souls, soon all be killed
And yet, very few human beings seem to care at all,
They still buy the pricey pups at shopping malls;
And when the novelty is gone, they dump them, too,
That picture and your poem, should make all feel blue.
I have no words here, no words.
Too much, I'm just too soft, can't help it.
John