THE HOUND The beaten hound ducked his head in shame. The master had been cruel to him. He must leave and flee. This farm was no place for a fearful hound. He must escape to the city, Where people dropped scraps for a lonely hound, And he would find a friend. Running down empty alleys, The lonely hound searched on. But nowhere was a friend for him, No scraps for a homeless hound. Just people moaning, groaning, crying- They had no home, And boom boxes blaring- Bopping their beat. This city was no place for a sleepy hound. He must escape to the sea. Kicking up sand as he scaled the beach, The famished hound let out a cry of sorrow. He had no place to go; no one would invite him in. They all had their own busied lives; they had no time for a hound. But on the hound jogged, 'til he came to the water's edge, And here he stopped to think. No friend; no master; no food for the brain. No fire to warm him; no boat to transport him to another land. There was only an exhausted life, And the hound sat down and wept. This world was no place for a hungry hound. He must leave and free himself from this senseless land. It was no good for a useless hound. So, then and there, the sorrowful hound sat down, at the water's edge, And he slept. The hound was swept away by the sea, in his sleep, And he never saw his sad life again. Written in 1997 and included in a school compilation. Poetry