The days are like fine chain gloves, When in need of plate. They’ll do, but could be better.
Titanium
In the middle, there
Dragons circle just near enough
To stop my descent
My Hound
A memory of warmth
The brindle is now a bridle
Their name a mystery
This one is too
Sitting by rocks
Smelling nothing
No need for hounds
When there’s bit and saddle
I s’pose
I thought would be gone
This memory of warmth