Saving Grace Poetry Page

Second Chance
by H. A. Trexler
January 1999

a precious little puppy was placed by the tree
hoping to give a child some christmas glee

for one long year you could not separate
the pup and the child they always played great

as time went on the child grew up
each day he spent less time with the pup

the duo was done they played no more
computer games replaced a romp on the floor

mom and dad's new chore that they did not like
was to care for that dog that was bought for mike

when the time came to college mike went
chained in the yard the dog's time was spent

to pay for mike's school the family did move
poor old rudy no longer fit their groove

an add in the paper did not go well
but the local shelter had an available cell

this old dog sat and watched others go
people picked dogs that weren't so slow

then along came a woman with a heart of gold
she fell in love with rudy that dog so old

with a pillow in the corner to lay his head
next to his master he would go to bed

he very much enjoyed the rest of his life
comfortable was he in a world full of strife

this poem is dedicated to our four legged friends
and to the men and women who love them to the end

thank you

Adopt a Rescued Dog

The Rescuer
by H. A. Trexler
November 1998

Every morning when I get up
I think of the woman who cares for pups

She doesn't care if she is tired
She doesn't care if she gets fired

She saved the mom from the cruel shelter
Mom was needing someone to help her

Five little pups were born that night
Five little girls oh what a delight

The pups needed care that she would give
They needed her help so they would live

One by one they will open their eyes
To see the woman who saved their lives

With pups in her hands and love in her heart
She knows that in spirit they will never be apart

Dogs that once were condemned to be dead
Now enjoy the pats on the head

for all the sweet girls she finds a home
Hoping that they will never be alone

Many sweet people look for a pet
To love and hold and never forget

To those who decide on a Doberman girl
That was saved from one really cruel world

I want you to know that for all you do
Lots of great blessings are in store for you

And to my wife that I love so much
I have a message I know she will love

When I get home from this foreign land
I will love that woman right to the end

This poem is dedicated to my wife Sasha
And to the dobermom, Gracie, whom she rescued

Give the Gift of a Second Chance

A Prisoner of War
By Teresa Maro Rozich
Teresa's Den
May 1998

I huddle inside my small cage.
I can barely stand, it's so small, but that is ok,
because the wires of the floor cut into my bare feet when I do.
My skin is raw, and cut, where I've had to lay so uncomfortably
for hours on end, days without end, years that go on forever.
My body offers no comfort, as it's thin, and boney.

I have no bed on which to lay my body.
No blanket to cover me when I'm cold.
No furniture on which to sit.
No private place to do my "business".
No friends to call my own.
I am in Solitary Confinement,
with only myself for company.

My fellow "prisoners" can't help me,
for they too are in total misery.
Their lives are no better than my own.
I often hear their cries in the night.
Cries of pain, cries of sadness, cries of loneliness.

I am hungry, and sick, but my captors don't really care.
I receive no medical attention, as I'm not considered
important in the entire scheme of things.

My children give me a few moments of joy,
But they are taken too early, leaving my breasts filled with milk.
I know a different kind of pain now.
The pain of love lost.
The pain of true misery.

My stomach has stopped growling.
It's way beyond that, as I sit here with the pain.
Yesterday I Vomited blood, as my stomach began to turn on itself.
Today I saw hair falling out by handfuls.
What had been beautiful golden hair is now gone.
Part of me wonders if maybe it will be over soon.

I sit day in and day out, staring into space.
I have no family to remember to give me strength.
I know of no God to worship in times of fear.
I have no love to remember in times of pain.
I have no hope.

I have no hope,
For I am a prisoner of Cruelty.
A prisoner of Pain.
A prisoner of Greed.
A prisoner of War.

For I am a prisoner of a Puppy mill.

Author's note: This is not intended to be a poem, but the author's impressions of what a puppy mill must feel like to the mother dog, the one giving birth to all those "doggie's in the window". While the conditions described here are taken directly from Viet Nam POW reports and compared to True Puppy Mill reports, it is not meant in anyway to take away from what those POW's endured. If you would like to help some TRUE Viet Nam POW's, please, visit Operation Just Cause.