Brian Joseph Dickenson
Max - Poem by Brian Joseph Dickenson
Of all the people, places, things,
I miss, as I grow old,
There's only one in my memory
That I would like to hold.
Just a dog, a Labrador,
But so much more besides,
I missed him so when he had to go,
But in me his soul resides.
He came to me one Christmas time,
A present from my wife,
For seventeen years he stayed with me,
Through happiness, grief and strife.
He never asked a lot from me,
Just food and a place to sleep,
But he was not just my best friend.
He worked to earn his keep.
On winter days we would go out
Hunting for the duck,
He’d have swam through hell to bring them back,
He was so full of pluck.
He was the envy of my peers
When they watched him work,
When their dogs failed to face the thorns,
Old Max would never shirk.
He'd plunge right in because he knew
How pleased I'd be with him,
Ignoring pain and suffering;
To prove my faith in him.
He was only a dog, a big black dog,
And one who's sorely missed,
I couldn't stop the tears that flowed
When his dying face I kissed.
If animals go to heaven,
As we may do when we die,
The greatest joy I'll ever have
Is to see him bye and bye.
Comments about Max by Brian Joseph Dickenson
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You