When I grow old and weak of eye
I want you there right by my side.
Your gentle nudge, a comfort then
To see me through, right to the end.
Your fuzzy coat, now grey with age
For me to touch in this final stage.
To know the comfort of your loving heart,
Given to me right from the start.
A more loyal friend I’ve not found yet.
You’re dear and special, my cherished pet.

May 3, 2014
Connie Buchan