Friday, July 29, 2011

Biscuit

By Jane Kenyon

The dog has cleaned his bowl
and his reward is a biscuit,
which I put in his mouth
like a priest offering the host.

I can't bear that trusting face!
He asks for bread, expects
bread, and I in my power
might have given him a stone.

No comments:

Post a Comment

If you include links in your comment the whole comment will likely be deleted as spam. You have been warned! Otherwise, dialoguing with these poems is encouraged.