Thursday, January 13, 2005
Putting Down an Old Dog
My old dog breathes in quiet swell and ebb,
His sleeping furry flank like ocean foam;
He cannot know this sunny morning brings
His sad release from life within our home.
He dreams perhaps of days when he ran free,
The joyous muddy romps on Granddad's farm;
His bounding leaps, his chipper little bark
As wide-eyed cattle scattered in alarm.
But now his halting step betrays his pain,
And resignation dims his rheumy eyes—
And once he settles painfully to rest
Upon the parlor rug, he cannot rise.
The god of time has bargained with us both
And left infirmity in place of youth.
A sorry trade, the only one he makes;
Ah, would that tears could wash away that truth.
© 2004 Jeffrey Hull