Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Good Dog

When a good dog dies,
your heart breaks in two
And a part of your soul
turns a deep shade of blue;
The silence you face
as you walk through the door
and wait for a bark
that won't sound anymore
is oppressive and painful.
The silence is black
as you search for a
friend that is not coming back.
An emptiness wraps
it's cold arms around
the spot by your bed
where he once settled down.
And the ball- that old ball,
the one he adored
sits idle and useless
and cold on the floor.
And who will chase all of
 the cars down the drive?
Or sound the alarm
when strangers arrive?
When I sit on the porch
in my old wicker chair
Whose head will I pet?
Whose paw will be there?
Oh, man's best friend,
how could you go
and leave us all hurting
and missing you so?
We were not ready
to tell you goodbye
Oh, it seems so unfair
for a good dog to die.



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