Dear Tony,there is
a poem attached, I hope you like it, it may bring a tear to your eye as it has
other folk. It is a window into my soul! If you publish it would you leave it
in the style at it is, if possible. The style is called Ottava Rima and it goes
back 800yrs, starting off in Italy.
Best wishes.
Les Davey
CanineFriend
The old dog looked at me with his big brown
Sad eyes, in his head there was confusion!
We had just returned from the vet's in the town,
He had given me bad news - the reason
Why my heart was heavy, my cause to frown.
The dog had a serious back problem,
Critical, he would never walk again.
If I lost him, life would not be the same.
I sat in the garden contemplating
And decided we should visit the wood
Over the river. It's a nice setting.
We spent time foraging there when I could
Manage it? I reached down gently stroking
His silky head, he licked my hand, his cold
Nose nudging me for more. My feelings drained,
This situation, the heartache, the pain.
Eventually, getting to the river,
We crossed over. It was autumn, the trees
Still in leaf was a patchwork of colour,
It meant nothing. I hardly noticed. We
Settled down under a huge black poplar.
There was a chill in the air, perhaps it was me?
We sat there for a while, he moved and whimpered,
It brought me back to the present with dread.
I'd been lost in thought, memories I treasured!
Just then a pair of mallards flew overhead.
His gaze followed them - the crack of my rifle
Filled the air as a whiplash - he fell dead!
He lay still as a stone. It was not cruel
The act I'd committed; he'd have wanted
It that way. All the same, I felt terrible.
At the vet's, terrified, he would tremble!
I sat there awhile, gazing at his still
Form. The woods silent except for the sound
Of my grief. I felt at his femoral
Artery --there was no pulse. My old friend
Had departed! Lifting him, I was gentle!
I laid him in the grave that I had lined
With wild flowers. My tears fell like April
Showers. I gazed at his cold form; so still.
I laid him in his favoured position,
Over him, in his lonely grave, I placed
More flowers. My pal, my trail-mate gone!
I filled in the grave. Westward the sun had reached
