
by Kathy Flood
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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.
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| 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's 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!
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