My Poetry (c) 2k-RondaLee
He Was Born in a Sewer Pipe
He was only a puppy when he was bitten by his first flea, chewing and scratching in agony as he snuggled with his three sisters in a filthy sewer pipe. They lived with little pleasure, and their mothers's milk was running low. They lived one block from a mansion and raspy barks called them from the distance-- always from a distance-- never close enough, never a comfort.
Still this devoted mother nurtured and coddled her young until she died. She died as her body sheltered her pups from the drifting snow. The warmth of the mother had turned cold against her babies skin. Even with her sacrifice, they may not live. Her milk would fill their bellies no more. Her body, now frozen could only make them colder. Once again, they heard the barking, once again it seemed too far. Three little girls died within hours, one little boy survived. Once again, he heard the barking of a dog completely alive. With his last bit of strength, with every sound in his soul, he cried.
The mansion dog, a mother of stillborn pups, heard his plea and came running. She scooped him up in her mouth and took him home. Her milk was still warm from the family that she'd lost. This mother of none saved this child of one, she saved him from misery. Even the life of a newborn pup can have quite a cost.
The world gives us the freedom to live, but it cannot keep us alive.
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