A singular bay,

Followed by another,

Then another,

Their lonesome calls,

Echo through the granite canyons,

The pale summer moon,

Pays homage to their cries,

What must the Hopi and the Navajo thought,

Looking into the darkness of night,

O’ they knew the coyote well,

The hero, trickster and shapeshifter,

A buffoon,

A clown,

Seldom dangerous,

Never a nuisance,

That is the label of today,

Seeing the song dog as inconvenient,

Thrusting them out,

To places they don’t call home,

Still they are not be hushed, but resilient,

Distant howls,

Raised to the crystal moon can be heard,

Their sad lonesome cry,

Growing fainter and eerily infrequent,

As man advances on their prairie,

Leaving little hope for more,

Than a future of extinction,

Will anyone mourn the passing of…

The song dog.

~~ D. R. DiFrancesco ~~