As thunder growls and lightning rends the sky,
within the house, the boy is safe and warm.
Then, at the door, a whimpered, mournful cry,
a small black dog seeks shelter from the storm.
For many years, together they will stay;
through thick and thin, remaining best of friends—
but canine lives are short, and one bleak day,
the boy is left alone, the friendship ends.
Some decades later, looking back on life,
an ageing man has little to regret;
but mourns the fact that neither friends nor wife
could fill the void left by his childhood pet.
There, in the dark of night, he finds once more,
a small black dog stands scratching at his door.
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Author Notes
After reading a wonderful poem about depression posted by Gloria, I decided, since it is mental health awareness month, to do one on the same topic. Mine is a lot less eloquent, but it's meaningful to me.
The term "black dog" has been used as a metaphor for depression for a very long time. Many know that Churchill used it with reference to his own state of mind on occasions, but it was used as long ago as the late 1700s by the English essayist Samuel Johnson, and before that, possibly by the Roman poet Horace, before the birth of Jesus (though this is sometimes disputed as a poor translation).
This poem is dedicated to Whiskey, Ebony, Misty and Bella -- the four black dogs in my life (so far) -- you are all loved more than you can know.
Thanks for reading.
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