Allen M. Lola

Allen M. Lola Poems

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Sister

(Dedicated to the passing of a good dog)

It wasn’t the end of the world when she up and died,
But I admit I had to talk a tear from sloshing over the side.
The crow quit calling her names over his drifting shadow.
Does anyone know where all the good dogs go?

Brown eyes, big feet and a short tail,
a biscuit’s nightmare, she could follow any trail.
A free roaming spirit, she feared no foe.
Does anyone know where all the good dogs go?

She scattered the squirrels and ran the rabbit.
She shook the possum from his dreams and shooed the egret.
Not a cat chase missed and she rolled the armadillo.
Does anyone know where all the good dogs go?

It must be a happy place, a place without a care.
For a week or a month, I would like to visit her there.
Dogs have no soul; some say it to be so. Then,
does anyone know where all the good dogs go?

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