Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.212
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Our story began behind bars with the broken,
Displaying our armor with truths left unspoken.
Through the gates each day, our counselor hats on,
Where pain wore a face, and hope felt long gone.

You, with your wisdom and counselor’s grace,
Me, burnt out but still showing my face.
We stitched up souls with words and care,
In a world where few even knew we were there.

"Eight and the gate" rang like a drum in our chest,
Till we traded our keys for a long-needed rest.
No longer confined, our world opened wide,
With pups at our heels and friends by our side.

Bella, a farting cutie with sass to spare,
Jack Dangles—cutest dude anywhere,
Ollie, judging all with a skeptical eye,
And mine, loyal, wild, barking at the sky.
We measured our days in tail wags and sparks,
And found light in our dogs when the world turned dark.

You’re my news anchor, my human rant,
My “yes you can” when I swear I can’t.
We share stories and snacks and fried calamari,
And laugh till we wheeze like a nursing home party.

You’re blue as the sky, I’m red underneath,
But we cry the same tears from sorrow and grief.
We talk of the world—no judgment, no shame,
Different opinions, but hearts just the same.

You bring the fire, and I bring the “me,
”?You rage at the news with raw clarity.
(You really should join that Trump-haters squad—
They’d give you a mic and a standing applaud.)

When the world gets too heavy, we know what to do—
Dogs, snacks, the news, and a cry or two.
You’ve saved me from drowning more than you know,
With sarcasm, love, and that fierce Jewish glow.
You check in with care that never feels fleeting—
Usually starting with, “Hey… what you eating?”
You’re braver than you’ll ever admit,
Still fighting each day with your sharp, clever wit.
You ache in the places that scream in the night,
But you rise. You stay. You still fight.

I’m twelve percent Jewish, I love to remind—
Which explains why I cry and complain all the time.
You yell “Borscht!”—I say, “What’s that mean
”You sigh, “Oh hush, just eat something green.”

You’re my friend beyond what words can explain—
Through doctor reports and every bloodstain.
If life’s a long walk with no real map,
I’m glad it’s with you—nap by nap.

We’re still here. We’re still us.
Still wrapped in dog fur, still raising a fuss,
Partners in crime—chaos, a must.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required