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Winston has passed on...

She heard him rummaging, turning on taps
opening the fridge, you know, stuff like that
removing her coat, a black felt-like hat
she set the long table and stroked her sad cat
then calling out as he stomped upstairs
You know that snow has stopped out there?
idly listening to his suitcases click
life, she mused, is cruel, unseemly quick
You see he'd bought his doggie fresh meat
rarely would Winston receive such a treat
she vigorously scrambled eggs with soft butter 
anxiously preparing a meal for their supper
their tea lightly milked before she'd reveal 
she'd buried his dog in that far orchard field
buried him deep in a Hessian sack
buried him deep next to old Jack
Winston will never again play fetch
eat them damn apples shit dribble retch
how could she describe Winston's demise 
how could she prevaricate confabulate lie 
they'd constantly worried about it all going to far 
those hoops that tunnel that damn see-saw
devilish chicanes coloured balls
Yet round and round he loved it all
so feckin happy before he finally expired
one more summer you know he'd be nearly retired
excessive exertions is what they would say
Vet said so, don't ya know last Wed-nes-day
now poor Winston would run no more
howl to get in before peeing on the floor
don't cry she sobbled it is for the best 
but I felt such guilt I must also state this
before I smothered that big head in wet clay
I painted his death mask earlier today
Oh how he wept as he turned sad and broken
Winston's image, a poorly executed token

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