Sonnet №14 — The Lambkin
A lamb fresh born, nestles in shepherd’s arms;
arm cradles neck, the other ‘neath the tail.
She will not let the lambkin come to harm
For lo, these weeks, faint lamb will thus be frail.
My pup, my Lucy, is borne the same way
each eve as we ascend the stairs to sleep,
Scale gently as we end the fray of day
And lie abed, we wait for Hypnos’ sweep.
She’s warm, curled snug against my back’s faint curve.
Her legs run, within the verge: dog world dream
She snorts, snuffles, chasing nocturne squirrels.
I pat her heaving ribs; how real it seems.
My eyes, they soften, lest thee I forget,
So short our time, forever in our dogs’ debt.
-David L. Stanley, April 2019.
