Hound

The black dog comes with its mocking whine,

Sits in the heart and intertwines

Itself within each act and breath,

Each empty curse, each drooping dream.

The black dog’s ears are stopped with wax.

The black dog simply cannot hear

Your words of ruth and reprimand

Your gentle smiles, or worse, your tears.

Only one thing does it fear,

One voice only makes it flee.

Surely a kind god gave it us –

The memory of mortality.

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