How Strange


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1. How Strange

 

My dog is getting old.

It shows in his walk, his bark,

and in his greying hair. 

But a spark remains,

a spark behind those eyes.

 

How strange; an outstretched paw.

He returns my gaze and cocks his head,

his tail wagging leisurely

with ... glee? irritation? anticipation?

No. Its love.

 

How strange; my dog has

less time on this earth than

I do.

He could be bitter, and spiteful,

cursing everyone close

through jealousy, and fear.

 

But no.

 

Instead he shows a kindness

foreign to our race.

He gives love with a possibility of 

none being returned.

He is strong; he accepts his fate.

He knows that its all going to

end soon.

 

None of us knows what lies beyond,

not my dog nor I.

freedom? hell? oblivion?

We can only guess, lie and dream.

 

But my dog shall reach there

before I do;

I will have to wait my turn.

And I know for certain that

the spark shall be waiting for me

when I join him.

 

I stand; we part; he sinks into slumber.

 

How strange.

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