literature

Dog Days of December

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callerofcrows's avatar
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Literature Text

Curled at the foot of my bed,
butter-and-cream,
you rest softly snoring.
Chasing tales I've spun,
that you don't understand,
you just know that you like
when I read to you.
Maybe it's the late December sun
warming my tones up
like a hard-wood floor.
Maybe it's just how
the words tumble out in
an unfamiliar tongue.
These are your days,
drifting in cold like the afternoon snow.
You keep the drafts out
of my chest,
but you'll never really know, now.
I love my dogs, and many times, they're the first to hear what I've written simply because they seem to like hearing me talk to them. They don't always make a captive audience, but they know I love them anyhow.
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