by Christine Adams Beckett
A true dilemma exists for this conflicted hound
in a world beyond his stove-warmed paws:
to follow his nose, to thee, unbound!
Our joints ache while the storm rages on,
forced to sing in domestic round, yet
a singular dilemma exists for this conflicted hound.
Soup simmers in a drafty house, the radio murmurs
of life in milder climes: where he might
follow his nose, to thee, unbound?
To sleep, once more, after injected pause
welcomed first for novelty, a break from the norm
he dreams of a dilemma, this conflicted hound.
To wake, once more, squinting in the sun
tethered and tripping through drifts of snow, he’d prefer
to follow his nose, unbound.
Strains for freedom, tugs at the leash
reminding sore shoulders of old injury
a true dilemma exists for the conflicted hound
to follow his nose, or to thee, be bound.