In the village,
There is a one-legged dog
Which runs after white cars
Like the devil confronted with  the Cross  And, defeated,
Withdraws whimpering and moaning.

Sometimes, I see him
when I return late at night,

He has, times galore, without actually saying it,
Said that he is leaving my car which is not white, alone.

Long before he became a white one-legged dog,
He was a young white doggie.
A white piece of cotton wool,
A tiny dandelion
That ran, jumped and flew with abandon,
At his favorite turning.

The decree
That vehicles may not crash into dandelions Was not enforced in our place.

On an evening
A white car
Had struck him down
And sped away without stopping.

Every time a white car
Comes through that turning,
He runs after it on his single leg
Sometimes he touches it,
Then whining and whimpering,
Retreats and lies down,  eyes closed.

Forgive me
For giving a wrong simile in the beginning.
It is not like the devil
Confronted with the Cross..

Towards that white car which didn’t stop,
Which reduced  A dog’s life
To one leg,
The white dog, the old tiny dandelion

Has some other feelings