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Poem Number 55

This short poem is about the
absolute trust of dogs.


Jane Kenyon

The dog has cleaned his bowl
and his reward is a biscuit,
which I put in his mouth
like a priest offering the host.

I can't bear that trusting face!
He asks for bread, expects
bread, and I in my power
might have given him a stone.


from Otherwise: New and Selected Poems, 1996
University of Arkansas Press

Copyright 1996 by the Estate of Jane Kenyon.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced with permission (click for permissions information).