It was inevitable as anything else.
Marked was the end of that summer
by the touch of Atropos’ hand.
Of course no one was willingly blind enough
to believe it unforeseeable
but the feeling you lost in your two hind legs
we gained in our blood and our hearts.

It was always in your eyes.
The urge, the need,
a plea that no one knew how to answer.
Woe for the world that wore you down.
Were you angry it took so long to put you down?
It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.
But everything now feels wrong.