The Bark of the
I hear it begin a block away--
the rising crescendo of dog songs.
She's coming! She's here!
They warn of her evil
that bringer of bills, catalogues,
The sturdy Germanic mail carrier
whose grim face easily breaks into a smile.
The dogs would surround her
in a ring of fire, trap her
in sleep throughout eternity.
And I would let them, except
once in while she brings a letter, check
Wilma Weant Dague
If you've any comments on
this poem, Wilma Weant Dague would
be pleased to hear from you.