Snow, what a lovely name,
though a dog, still the same,
pure white as the driven snow,
with patches of black and eyes if vivid blue.
That morning you were found,
lying there, right on the ground.
Blood flowing, but never your fate knowing,
as the last breath of your life ebbed out.
Your presence still lingers there.
Invisible, just like the air.
A true and loyal friend.
We'll miss you forever!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.