How beautiful was the unshorn fur coat on the childlike

Isolated by family who disowned her to find another life,

Her story rolls out as we proceed,

Her carnival of sadness already decreed.

Tossed from the back of a vehicle appeared so viable

I ask, behind this act of mean spirit, who stands liable?

Four muddy paws hobbled through the dusty quartered ground,

Toppled then fell, for the wound so sore, on a sand mound.

The one who used to be so cheerful and agile

Was lying frightened, hurt and ever so fragile,

Hardly could she keep her eyelids open,

While unfamiliar greyish mug examined her wounds unspoken.

A swamper tended to her after street cleaning,

He disappeared when the job ended and she was woken.

Soon did her wounds become smaller, but the dejection

Left to be fed by the rats clearly was an end to their affection.

Nonetheless she dreamt to be resting next to them in their suite,

As that was the only moment which brought her a little amuse,

The time creeps by under the shelter

As the sight of trash bin and rodents whisking by the edges beheld her.

She stares away towards the endless sky,

asking the inner self what went wrong and why

Rolled into days and weeks before the doom comes

Compulsively stayed back in the surrounding close to slums

It was a blacktop in the middle of nowhere,

Shook like a leaf, each time stroked by the cold air

The other lives were seen of the flies over her frons

Faltered over the old age was a fault she couldn’t eschew

Outstaring the difficulty in living that it ensued

The spirit of her life dropped like a dime and quarter

Could anyone hear the noise trapped in the stillness

Following the persistent groans as her days got shorter.


Jots

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