by Kathie Flood
A dog sits waiting in the hot midday sun;
too faithful to leave, too frightened to run.
Heís been there for days now with nothing to do
but sit by the road just waiting for you.
He canít understand why you left him that day.
He thought you were stopping to take him to play.
Heís sure youíll come back and thatís why he stays.
How long can he suffer? How many more days?
His legs have grown weak, his throatís parched and dry.
Heís sick now from hunger; he falls with a sigh.
He lays down his head and closes his eyes.
I wish you could see how a waiting dog dies.