The next poem I write will have a dog.
A dog with blackened fur gone gray with time.
He’ll lie on the floor without a worry.
Time passing by quietly as he lies in wait. Time passing as he lies down.
The next poem I write will have a puppy
and all his puppy energy gleefully running about.
Free from he explores the world with our worry.
The next poem I write will have both dogs elder and pup.
The puppy now experienced in the days that passed is too, calm and quiet.
Together they lie blissfully sleeping waiting for the next day to come.
The next poem I write will be lonely.
No longer two but one.
All that’s left is the now experienced pup forever alone.
No whimper or cry.
but a deep sense of emptiness
left unfilled by the passed friend.
Knowing not to be in sorrow the puppy lies in the office on a bed once his friends alone and quiet, where one day he hopes to reunite with his old friend