I always felt so sorry for the hound

the piteous beast, alone and chained

up on the tor,

his lips and eyes lined all around.

With phosphorous.

The pain he felt was never mentioned in the book.

I never cared for young Sir Henry and his fate

when that dumb creature

with his heart so great

was imprisoned there in ruins ancient.

Distorted, tortured to inspire fear.

Poor dear

animal.

I need to take him in my arms

to tell him not to be afraid

for all is well.

To gently wipe away the stinging tears

and tend the mouth made sore.

By phosphorous.

And when at last we see each other

and eyes meet across the Grimpen Mire

and your eyes burn like coal

and my eyes burn with deep desire

I’ll hold you in my arms

so tight!

And when you leave

I’ll see my handprints crawling down your spine.

A proof writ to show the world that you are mine.

In phosphorous.