For years she wandered through endless rain,
Each drop a kiss, each kiss a chain.
Water traced her skin like whispered pleas,
Cold rivers curling down her knees.

She wore her hunger like midnight dew,
A trembling secret the world never knew.
Her breath was fog on autumn glass,
Her dreams—wild roots in fields of grass.

She longed for hands like summer wind,
To stroke her fur, to soothe, to mend.
To feel the leash, not as a bind,
But as a thread where trust entwined.

Yet guilt was thorns around her bloom,
And doubt a storm that filled her room.
“Too strange,” she thought, “too wild, too wrong—
No soul would love this secret song.”

She tasted loneliness like bitter wine,
Years steeped in silence, dark as pine.
Her ears caught echoes in the rain,
Soft phantom voices calling her name.

Her tricks—like blossoms bending low,
A dance of joy the world won’t know.
She longed for praise like honeyed sun,
For love that crowns when day is done.

Seasons turned like restless tides,
She searched through forests, deserts wide.
Through winter’s frost and summer’s flame,
Through silent nights that spoke her name.

And then—one dusk beneath the trees,
A voice as warm as honeyed breeze.
He touched her cheek, the rain fell still,
His gaze a lantern, soft yet will.

No leash of scorn, no chain of fear,
Just hands that whispered, “You are dear.”
Her collar now a crown of trust,
Her soul unbound, her doubts to dust.

She learned the truth she’d never known:
Unconditional love was her throne.
Not tricks, not games, not fleeting praise—
But endless light in tender rays.

And in his arms, her world was whole,
Her secret safe, her cherished role.
For what she sought through years of night,
Was love that saw her—pure and bright.