The valley I call home fills with fog, I wish sometimes I had a dog.
I could fit in with the other walkers, not terrified of my lonely stalker’s.
I stare out my window from the edge of my bed, a million running thoughts in my head.
I pray to the the gods that may care for me, is there anything else I could be,
Hoping I survive another day of fog, still wishing I had beaten that dog.
D Jan 2017
(Just for note I’m not condoning animal cruelty by writing about beating dogs, its reference for the term ‘beating the black dog’, as in getting over depression.)