Walking The Dog On An Average Evening

 
I often stop when out at night
To gaze at stars, their wondrous light
And think of God and his design;
Which path to take, which way is right.

My little dog must think it queer
To wonder why I have paused here
Between the tree and garbage can
Without a fire hydrant near.
                        
He gives his leash a poignant tug
My anxious little fair-haired pug.
Nature’s call has been answered quick;
He longs return to his warm rug.

I clean his mess up off the lawn.
The night grows old, I start to yawn.
Back here with him at day’s first dawn,
Back here with him at day’s first dawn.