A bowl of kindness, simple, small,
Yet dogs remember—through rise and fall.
Three days of care, their hearts will bind,
Three years of love etched deep in mind.
But humans feast on endless streams,
Forget the hands that fed their dreams.
Three years of giving, gone in haze,
Three days enough to turn away.
So measure worth not by the tongue,
But by the echoes loyalty sung.
For gratitude is rare, austere—
A dog remembers, a man forgets the year.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem