I buried him near the fuchsias
where he liked to lie, snapping
at the bees and flies that dared
invade his space.
A feisty chap with a furry face
and huge brown eyes.
His whiskers drooped even as a pup,
more so as the years went by.
And when his eyesight failed,
he'd follow my voice to jump onto my lap,
tail a-wagging, ears pricked and alert.
This was our quality time.
With my companion gone I now avoid
the paths we walked. For habit made
me turn around and wait.
What is the use of going alone on this mockery roads without Charlie? Really this is a sad poem of uncertainty.
Oh Jerry I understand... the feeling of losing a beloved pet... like losing part of ourself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I did wonder....could it be about a cat..? .and so it is...like Charlie next doors..who moved in with us....then moved on...