The days were cold,

And the skies were grey.

The bare branches swaying in the swift brisk wind.

Still, the black dog slept.

The mirror reflects,

The passing of days.

And a breast yearning more, for babes long grown.

And still, the black dog slept.

One bright blue morn,

As the sun rose high.

No bells or butlers to herald the change,

Then, the black dog woke.

A soft veil falls,

Across sight and sound.

The heart hungering only to silently weep.

Now the black dog wakes.

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