The Little Dog

The little dog, the street urchins play with,

Now has a rope around its slender neck.

It is the maltreatment of the worst  kind,

The very sight of it made me angry.

The dog not understanding its significance,

Plays with the loose end of the rope often,

Getting entangled pulling the noose tight

Letting out loud yelps each time it choked.

Bring out the sharpest blade to cut the rope,

Free the wretch; the dog looked up tenderly,

Thought otherwise and ran as fast he could

He did not want to die by the sharp blade,

That flashed in our hands before his eyes;

He knew about death more closely than we do.