by Ivy Ferguson
|Look at the line of her elegant nose,|
The regal way she disposes of foes.
Catch a proud stare from her fierce eyes of green,
Could she have once been a goddess or queen
In some long-lost palace, light-years away?
Now she roughs it with me, sharing my day -
Sharing the loneliness, sharing the cold,
Does she remember the glories of old?
Mongrel they called her; an unwanted pet