Times

Times

There will be times
When a man cannot determine
Between the howl of dogs
And the cries of men
Perchance he shall find
That the criers have thick hair
For they scarcely have the minds
Of men

Mid-evening in September
Alas I must always remember
I took a walk about my ground
The sky was dark and tense
The neighborhood lay silent in suspense
But soon the air was pierced by
What I mistook for the howl of hounds
When I wandered near
The howling fell in my ear
But seemed to have the voice of men
I beheld a strange sight
Which I pray I may never see
Again

A pack of dog-like men
Sitting at the crossroad of a lane