Emanuelle, called
her last known dog.
A small, franchise variety of shepherd dogs…
Her toes were frozen outside
ill famed taverns,
where lurking memories of former gentlemen,
mingled with odd smells of quick fortunes, and lads,
pinching unseen butts of unfinished, cheap cigarettes…
“Who are you?”
And it sounded weird
from a dog she thought to know
a bit better than the surprise
of hearing yet another
vain marriage proposal.
“Owls never bark, Serghei;
and knights arrive precisely
at the dawn of every fallen evening…”
The dog quietly packed its feet behind the sofa,
and wept.
Alone,
like every other slab of marble…
Photo source: http://davemorgancs.blogspot.co.uk
THEORETICAL PHILOSOPHY 
Interesting
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Thank you John.
I quite felt the same when it came…
It’s cold and mystic, but rather like a slab of marble awaiting to be chiseled…
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a slab of marble awaiting to be chiseled
That there, my friend, is an entire story in eight words!
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Thank you, Sir!
Honoured by your words.
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Excellent.
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Much obliged, Sir:-)
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that image! my dog- I wish i had two
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