Taken by Emilie Wood...I think...
in the cold autumn sun.
Too faithful to leave,
too frightened to run.
He's been there for days
with nothing to do,
But sit by the road,
waiting for you.
He can't understand
why Ты left him that day.
He thought Ты and he
were stopping to play.
He's sure you'll come back,
that's why he stays.
How long will he suffer,
how many days?
His legs are weak,
his throat parched and dry.
He's sick from hunger
and falls with a sigh.
He lays down his head
and closes his eyes.
I wish Ты could see
how a waiting dog dies.
