My mane is unbrushed and dirty,
there’s no snow for me to roll in.
My matted mane disgusts me;
once I was snow-covered, clean.
You saw me padding in the snow;
paw-prints, fur shaking, a look.
You caught me in your embrace,
free to be, yet anchored to you.
My soul remains free,
yet the cage you gave me is cosy.
I will stay if you take me back to
the snow, brush my mane clean,
and say the words you must say.