This poem is dedicated to my one-eyed, blind Pekinese, Olive.

The small, not tall, but cold she sat alone,
Her voice a yelp of terror seeing not;
A cry for help; a want to know a home,
She sat there at the corner of the lot.
Then she was saved by unknown and unseen,
Her hope renewed but once again was dashed,
For no one ever seemed to be too keen
To take the blind; save her from fire's ash.
Then came those who rescued from darkest pit;
The trust and love was once again restored;
Her dark-eyed view not hinder sight did it,
For she could see how much she was adored,
And now the sound her voice makes is a hark;
Her long journey brought light out of the dark