He walked like a king,
In hiding, eating out of
Trashcans and leftovers,
Having the company
Or the other dogs,
Disliked by many,
Petted by a few,
In rain, snow and sunshine,
Taking shelter in the side
Of the sreet where he
Was born and brought up,
Many times to the jealousy
Of the dogs of homes,
Who lived in luxury,
But not as a free being,
Till he was hunted by
The merciless dog pound squad.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem