The fog crept twixt the stick straight trees
rolled low across the ground.
The yellow moon shone frosted grass
and nothing made a sound.
A low-slung Dingo slunk in the shadows
propped at the edge of a clearing.
His tattered ears swivel fore and aft
alert to the sounds not hearing.
Trotting across the glassy grass
beneath the smoky haze.
Weaving between the fallen trees
by scent through well trod maze.
Tall crosshatched shadows cast moonlit trunks
across the sodden earth.
Pandanus palms dance eerie light
knee deep in dewy surf.
Propped stopped again, ears pricked, eyes sharp,
honed in to scope his quarry
Paw raised, held breath, breaks into a gallop,
hunting on the hurry.
A panicked fluster of night bird feathers
flees upon the wing.
Caught between the Dingoes teeth
no longer will she sing.
The mournful cry of a lonesome bullock
like a ship through the thickening fog.
Answered by another
from a distant wetland bog.
Frozen Dingo feathered mouth
stands silent in the mist.
Till all is clear and fog bound sound
is hushed in natures list.
Head dipped low, cross rock, twixt trees
beneath the slippery fog.
He trots a wary traveler,
to his lair the wild bush dog.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Wild Dog by Anthony Burge )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
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