Old Faithful Dog
I never thought him dead.
Only running in the park,
and sitting stretched by fire,
or with his paw,
pushing the dish,
' more water now'.
And barking, for post,
and visitor, and exits,
from his home domain,
and up the stairs at ten,
and down again at six.
A rhythm of memories
and habits.
Until his back legs gave,
and the vets scanning eyes
' he has had a good and happy life'.
I help him as he passed,
and watched him go,
to another field or park.
I can still sense him here,
in the house,
on the staircase just past ten,
and at the duvets' edge.
Luther was the collies name.
poem by Bernard Kennedy
Added by Poetry Lover
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