My little black dog

a poem by Elizabeth Grace Shearer, UK - poetry writer, author, poet

There is a little black dog
sitting at my door
Yelping through the night
I cant take anymore

Up I get and let him come in
I get him some food
But he is soaked to the skin

I run him a bath
Then wrap him up warm
But now I am tired
So to bed I am drawn

my little black dog
Climbed up on the bed
Fast asleep like a log
Paws on my head

It felt like a comfort
Like id made a new friend
But little did I know
Just how this story would end

A week went by
He grew bigger and stronger
He would sit in my pocket
As our walks got longer

Each day he grew bigger
And needed more of my time
So I stopped going out
He was all mine

My little black dog
Wasn't so little anymore
He filled up my house
And blocked the front door

People would visit
But they couldn't get in
Trapped in this place
How did this all begin

This once little puppy
Who curled up on my lap
Now suffocating me
And my energy does sap

He would threaten to leave
But I was scared on my own
He had been there so long
Not ready for the unknown

I awoke the next day
But my black dog was gone
I searched high and low
Wondering what I'd done wrong

There was a sense of relief
As I stepped out the door
But I didn't recognise it
Nothing was as before

I had been gone from the world
For a very long time
It took lots of courage and help
Before I could feel fine

Every so often
my black dog returns
He howls through the night
And my stomach churns

The feelings return
That plagued me so long
And most of the time
I hide till he is gone

But sometimes I yearn
For that familiar face
I remember my little black puppy
Curled up in his place

I know that he hurt me
I have scars from his bites
But as hard as it is
I must continue to fight

I can't let him in
Because he would steal all my hope
So he must stay outside
It's the only way I can cope

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