On the night I was born it was raining.
A litter of six in the shed.
I was the runt of the babies,
the ugliest pup that was bred.
The beauty of my newborn siblings
made them so easy to sell.
Because I was puny and homely,
I couldn't be saved from my hell.
My master was drunk and abusive.
Afraid, I would hide from his hate.
The wounds so harshly inflicted.
Too often I feared for my fate.
When starved, I stole meat off the table.
His anger turned him enraged.
He hauled me out to the shelter
where I lived lonely and caged.
Unwanted by anyone passing.
"Too ugly," I'd hear them all say.
I knew that this was my prison
until slowly I'd pass away.
My chances grew fewer while aging.
They spoke of putting me down.
Another dead mutt in the shelter
that sat on the outskirts of town.
Then one joyous day, there was Willie.
He looked in at me through the bars.
The little old man stood there smiling.
He saw past the pain and the scars.
They asked him if he was certain.
"Heck yes," is what he replied.
So strong is this dear bond between us.
I'll spend every last breath at his side.
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Writing Prompt |
Write a poem adout "the life of a..." something, anything, person, place, or thing. Be creative! Any style of poem. |
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The life of a.... Contest Winner
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