Her Life In Their Hands . . .
The hungry puppy sits all alone,
Reduced to nothing but skin and bone.
Her owners just couldn't care less,
If their once pretty pet now looks a mess.
Her loving head often hit like a ball,
The pitiful creature would tumble then fall,
Her owners should be full of shame,
Beating a dog is not a game.
Creeping along with tail between legs,
Needing food badly, she pleads and begs,
Hit without reason, too weak to stand,
Punishment she knows only from man.
A bewildered look in her sorrowful eyes,
Just another dog with no need to die.
As the needle is placed in her paw,
Her eyes are fixed on the surgery wall.
Her eyes glaze over, she's fading fast,
She sinks back slowly into the past,
Back to her puppy days, roly-poly,
With no need now to feel so lonely.
Now out of her misery to save more pain,
No longer locked out in the pouring rain,
All the dog wanted was to be loved,
Well! Maybe she will in the heavens above,
Life had no meaning for that little mite,
But now she's asleep, God bless and good night.
Karen Clark