A Dog In My Garden
His dog died,
and that’s all there was to it.
Except it wasn’t.
Those words in between,
the missing of a friend,
the times relived; companion
dog that did him in. Joyful.
Bit his heart and made him write
such words so right,
that I went home
and kissed my dog
and played with her in the garden.
And we both lay down in the dirt,
and will again tonight, and every night.
Until she sleeps. And I with Daisy.
All because his dog died.
18Mar14
On Pablo Neruda's "A Dog Has Died", Poetry Magazine, February 1999.
Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment