Beneath the crescent moon and olive tree,
He stands—a prince of dusk, wild-hearted, free.

With eyes like coals that burned through dusk and doubt,
He knew my silence, sensed what grief's about.

A shepherd not of flocks but dreams and fears,
He licked the salt of both my joys and tears.

His bark was thunder, yet his soul was balm—
He'd chase the wind, then sleep with nature's calm.

No marble gate could guard me half as well
As Rex’s watchful stride and warm farewell.

He'd leap through dawn like firelight off the shore,
Each morning's vow more loyal than before.

When shadows came, he did not bark or flee—
He simply stood, a storm beside my knee.

And if the world grew dark or hearts grew dim,
The light I lost would find its way through him.

Now when I walk, the leash feels ghostly bare,
Yet in the breeze, I still can scent his care.

He was no beast, but breath with fur and flame—
A soul who came, who stayed, and earned his name.