Every morning I write poetry, or try,
Not any great literary act,
But something to make sense of this world,
Well, that is not exactly it,
More for me just to be observant.
This small dog, who now lays next to me,
We don't really know where she came from,
But she so appreciates our kindness now,
Laying, resting quietly,
In her bed next to my chair.
A refugee seeking safety
And a place to call home,
Really, that is what we all want, isn't it?
I took refuge in the Buddha,
Had to leave my home to return home,
Now my "practice" is beyond form and emptiness,
That is my home.
I think this little dog knows better than me,
about that!
I am humbled to be her student.
—Bruce Linton
