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Rondeau on the Death of a Dog


They whimper in their darkness and their pain,
But oh, so softly that one has to strain
To hear. The life that Folly whispered low
Would stay (and how we wished that it were so!)
Ebbs out, although we grasp for it in vain.

Steady the flow, invisible the stain
Their life-blood leaves on those who here remain.
Unwilling to desert us as they go,
They whimper in their darkness.

We pity pets who painfully are slain,
Or even gently enter Death's domain,
But human-folk will feel Fate's cruelest blow,
For, long after they lay their friends below,
And sorrow weighs them down like iron chain,
They whimper in their darkness.

© Fred Lanting

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