To My Beloved Poodle Poem by Andrew Lee

Somehow, somewhat, I can smell
the special smell of my poodle....
but her soul has gone far away....
yet so near... always wafting around
the tip of my nose....
As if Emily Dickinson, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allan Poe,
Lovecraft, Hart Crane, Stephen Crane, John Keats,
William Blake, Thoreau and Emerson....
and we are all smiling gently
and talking gently in our strange, quiet way....
perhaps what's left is our little memories
runnning around inside a tiny corner of a strange cosmos.
And the Creator periodically looks at and talks to
these little memories, because this world is long over
although we humans are not aware of it yet....