In my weakest moments, I have dreamt of myself in raveled garments
Making my bed on the dirt floors of an abandoned stable
Amid hundreds of others like myself.

The lace skirting of my best dress,
Gray-yellow with dirt and age,
Drags behind me through the mud like a tattered tail.
Far off a woman's voice complains of the sad state of her clothing.

In my mind, my back still has the strength to carry a man.
Key to his hunt, we chased through forests and across plains.

While useful, I was beloved.

But now I prefer the region of dreams. I adopt my own prey.

- Written 1999