I wonder what he’s thinking,
as he watches the world go by?
Does he wonder where we’ve gone?
Does he see us when we spy?
Is he thankful for the time,
now that we are stuck inside;
a time where he can chill on the dock,
and he doesn’t have to hide?
Is he taking on the scenery,
and thinking how beautiful it is;
or is he watching something moving,
and perhaps soon it will be his?
Does he know we’re in here watching?
If he does, he mustn’t care;
he must know we can’t come out,
so he doesn’t have to be that aware.
He knows when he’s in danger,
and right now he knows he’s not;
he’s simply sitting, watching something,
Taking all the time he’s got.
Yes, one day we’ll be out there,
and he won’t be seen around;
occasionally we can spot him,
for we know where he can be found.
But for now we are the ones watching,
from the place where we do hide;
now we’re the ones longing,
to roam free and play outside.
© Leslie C Dobson