Eyes Everywhere

Six eager eyes follow me, three
tails gyrate and the middle one
called a pure mountain feist
nibbles, eats only a few bites.
Later as I pack up holiday
clutter, her eyes flutter,
legs stiffen. All goes blank.
Seizures and sickness to
delayed house training these
unwanted ones take us
in, becoming our universe.
I am Saturn; they the rings.
I am a rock wishing hard
for a three legged dog in
the White House to be king.

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Certainly a poem that could be symbolic of different premisses. But … mountain feist seems to describe a nervous chippy little mongrel dog and his other two buddies that you possibly took in to nurture and care for. Unfortunately it seems that one moved on. Sad!
Blessings …

Actually, she had a bad seizure and lived, but it felt like death to me. I had really hoped Obama would choose a pound puppy. We have had five! Best of luck to you!


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