My dog sees me as if he sees a god.
By miracle appear his daily meats.
From tap on high is water bowl refilled.
His fleas are killed, and now and then come treats.
His god decides when lights go off or on.
His paws can’t open doors. Thank god I do!
From me he gets both praise and just rebukes
With vague, imperfect knowings of their due.
For this he gives two furry ears to scratch,
A belly to be rubbed, a head to pat.
Beyond these, all responsibilities
Are mine alone. He seems content with that.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem