Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”
Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”
One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But there, to his surprise…
Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
After the last one was planted, he sniffed it;
Then turned and licked Bob’s face.
Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”
Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.
Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed.
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.
Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he‘d come on the double.
Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray,
“Lord, let this day be my last.”
For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one evening,
Pal quietly passed away.
Bob held Pal in his arms and wept.
“Oh, Pal…my best friend…you saved my life.”
He caressed Pal as he reminisced;
Then, sometime in the night, Bob joined his wife.
The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought fresh flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….
Stood an old dog beside the stone,
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place.
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then, turned and licked her face.
She smiled through her tears.
“I had a dog when I was young...
A good one too. His name was Pal.”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
I wouldn't have loved anyone more than her,
and it is no secret that flowers make any mother smile,
when she takes them from two hands that care;
I honored you, mother with my thoughtfulness and pride.
Either in early adolescence or in late childhood:
did I see a single trace of profound sadness
while you gave me all those caresses and kisses
when I was asleep in my warm and tidy bed.
Beautiful and adorable mother, I was your gorgeous boy,
and in all honesty, you must have loved me a bit more
than the four girls who were lovable and obedient as I;
and in all fairness, they equally shared that incredible love.
Only your portrait can make that memory relive in your child;
I stare at it and suddenly light comes flashing at me:
the happiest and most radiant smile God ever created so lovingly...
to make those tender eyes forever live in this smile of mine.
Sweet and gentle mother, be that comforting angel who will embrace me
when uncertainty and sorrow will make me desperately mourn;
don't dry all these tears, but take them to the merciful Lord:
as my gift of infinite gratitude and immense love that I express so deeply.
Before I brought you crimson roses, the flowers that made any mother smile
to thank you for your sacrifice and devotion: did you see your son's pride?
Today I don't bring those roses, only yellow chrysanthemums to your grave:
to embellish this unadorned tombstone on which I will pray, weep and grieve.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009