her light is dim,
her words are slow,
she ambles now.
no more for her,
the rat race.
no more,
the daily grind.
her food is mush,
she sits alseep, for hours,
in the warm sunshine.
no more hustle, nor
any hint of bustle.
she is stooped
and has made
an art,
of the acts of decline.
no more,
taking orders,
she, bides her own time.
she knows,
her coil is ending
and that, the gentle night
beckons.
but still she whines.
until shooshed and comforted and put up,
into bed.
this old dog, Bess
has lived,
long past her prime.
it is just a sense
of well- placed loyalty,
that keeps her mind
fixed on staying, here
with John...
way past her alloted time.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
her light is dim,
her words are slow,
she ambles now.
no more for her,
the rat race.
no more,
the daily grind.
her food is mush,
she sits alseep, for hours,
in the warm sunshine.
no more hustle, nor
any hint of bustle.
she is stooped
and has made
an art,
of the acts of decline.
no more,
taking orders,
she, bides her own time.
she knows,
her coil is ending
and that, the gentle night
beckons.
but still she whines.
until shooshed and comforted and put up,
into bed.
this old dog, Bess
has lived,
long past her prime.
it is just a sense
of well- placed loyalty,
that keeps her mind
fixed on staying, here
with John...
way past her alloted time.
written for john..aged 72
and his companion bess
aged 98(in dog years) and the love that keeps them
shufflin thru...
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