43 of 693

Write now Article Tools

"Moose's Last Fall Morning in Our Meadow"

Soft pathway through the fruit-trees
Pad our feet with fallen leaves,
We squint into the morning sun
Through branches, made bare by the breeze
As it carries one last, wilted victim
To the meadow, just beyond
Where Moose's imprint from yesterday
In a few days would be gone

I was going to etch in my memory
Every hair between his toes,
Each dew-speck on his whiskers,
Each pore on his sweet nose,
His sniffing at the morning air
That, will always remind me to smell
Even the pungence of decaying leaves,
The last whiffs from his wagging tail

That last morning, he seemed happy
He was smiling with no signs of fear.
I wanted to roll in the grass with him
So I did, and held him so near
I almost had him safely inside of
My soul, but I had to let go.
Say good-bye to our own fall-lit meadow
Fight the voice that kept telling me no.

"Tomorrow he'll be fine", it said
"He's happy I think he's okay"
But the truth was, he was still dying
And this was our very last day.

Tomorrow he'd find a meadow
Under someone else's sky
Where dew would still kiss his whiskers
But where young dogs just never die.

Learn more about this author, Robin Loving.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

Add your voice

Know something about Poetry: Death?
We want to hear your view. Write now!