My Dog Is Old Now Poem by Patti Masterman

My Dog Is Old Now



My dog is old now
But he leaps over vast chasms of eternity, as he sleeps
His padded feet run sideways, going nowhere we can follow
As he contemplates inward meadows of sumptuous rabbits
Barking silently with joy, he anticipates the prize
Other times in sleep he resembles something nearly dead
A bad hip makes him assume absurd positions
He wakes with difficulty; his countenance strangely abashed
To be caught sleeping at any hour of the day
Nearly blind and deaf; we shout and gesticulate
His nose works fine as ever; but not his digestion
He eats his grass constitutional more often now
A hint of thunder or rain, and he's howling at the door
He has his own room now and heads off to bed early
As though virtue lurked in regular hours
He never gets up early unless nature calls
Should we need to turn on the light after he's retired
He blinks accusingly, like an old Uncle on hiatus
And sighs at being disturbed again at his slumbers
And we are forced to contemplate
That last sleep from which he will never more arise
Except perhaps, in his most secret of dreams.

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