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October 8, 2017

I am a dog. My dumb lips cannot frame the questions

That I long to know:

“Where has he gone? When will he came again,

My master, that my heart loves so?"

I did not know that weeks, and months, could be so long.

I stand beside the garden-gate,

(My eyes fired on the distant road, by which he went away)

And watch - and wait.

Sometimes I doze, and always do I hear his voice say,

“Good-bye, old pal. We’ll meet again - some-day."

Then men, and flags, and drums, came marching through the night,

And he, for whom I’d give my life, passed with them, out of sight.

And is it far, that place where he has gone?

That place where he is, and I may not be?

Shall I go seek him? Or wait here, beside the garden-gate

For that “some-day” he promised me?

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