There is a one-eyed dog sitting in the rain.
His ragged fur is wet and a chilling wind is whipping.
I open the door to let him in, but he sits there — one eye staring.
A bowl of food I place upon the ground, but motionless he stays.
Perhaps I am too caring?
What is one stray among all the strays on every corner?
I shut the door and walk away but soon begin despairing.
Alone and cold, surely he could parish.
Indeed, the reaper in the rain could well be preparing.
His scythe lustful and creeping slowly.
Towards the door I rush and throw it open, worry flaring.
But no fiends await, only one dog with one eye.
My mind playing tricks, I fancy, I am simply overbearing.
I stand in the doorway staring back and ponder,
What is it about this creature that has compelled my mind to erring?
Around I turn at last; I am finished with this tonight.
“No more will I think of this one-eyed dog,” up the stairs I step, declaring.
I left him food; he will be alright.
I settle into bed uncaring.
But that night I dream a dog perched in the doorway of my chamber.
Its one eye watches me as lay; that one ghastly eye unsparing.
Starting upright, I awake with eyes wide and search for the infiltrator.
AND THEN A SKELETON POPPED OUT.
A poem a wrote for a writing contest between some friends of mine. It really shines at the end.