A dog sits waiting in the cold autumn sun--
too faithful to leave, too frightened to run.
He's been there for days now with nothing to do
but sit by the road, waiting for you.

He can't understand why you left him that day;
he thought you and he were stopping to play.
He's sure you'll come back, and that is why he stays--
how long will he suffer? How many more days?

His legs have grown weak, his throat's parched and dry;
he's sick now from hunger and he falls, with a sigh.
He lays down his head, and he closes his eyes--
I wish you could see how a waiting dog dies!

Kathy Flood