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Poem

Somewhere beside the myrtle rose blooming white
By nutgrass overgrown, a palm tree sways in soft moonlight
Like an angel from the throne, and somewhere there
In your long forgotten bed sleep your bones alone
And though distant, for childhood I almost feel a tear
Benbow lies forgotten there, the first dog I ever owned

Some evening when the light was dim, without a call
He took his place at the front steps, surveying all
No more bones for him, no more sleight of teasing throw
No more joy to see him stand, fore legs paddling the air
Hind legs secure on the ground, then spinning to show
Dexterity, rolled on his back to our gleeful cheer.

My father named him for the English admiral those days
Gave him as hero, the sea dogs of Great England’s praise
Are but distant mist to me, but not my dear Benbow
My trusted dog, my loyal friend, ran over by a car
And leaving vacations behind returned a little low
Benbow was not there to leap and greet, his only czar.

I never owned another dog since, never could replace
The love I bore for my Benbow, a scrub exalted by its grace
When hunting mongoose in pingwing patch, or scaring
The clever kestrels from its swooping flight to spare
The hen house its tragic day. The time staccato barking
In four-part harmony is gone, the porch is sadly bare.
 
No Benbow will ever chase again a fleet footed boy
Gurgling fountains of joy, O how these memories annoy
My soul, time reaping our happiness first, and then us
Stripping our best possessions away, making us naked
Before returning us to barren bowels of brimless dust.
What had my dog to do with sin or fate among the wicked?

O Benbow, and old man needs a friend to walk at nights
A little boy needed a dog to be undefeated in all his fights.

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