old dogs chase rabbits in their dreams
as they snooze in comfy chairs
as autumn sunlight falls in through dusty windows,
but i sense the rabbits always reach their warrens,
uncaught, ready to be chased once more
in the coming day.
old dogs rest their weary heads
on the brown corduroy knees of old, old men
who remember hunting days
when partridges and pheasant hid within the grassy fields,
more cagey than afraid
of the wandering souls of dogs and men,
when the cooling air was filled with savory smoke
rising from leaf pile fires, here and there,
three hours spent, three hours shared,
both realizing that once again they did come to know
the callow joy of going out
and the mellow peace of coming home.
old dogs sigh a lot,
for reasons i do not know,
maybe aching bones,
or yearning for years gone by,
or maybe it is merely the song of growing old.
puppies yelp in their frolic,
dogs in their prime, howl and bark,
so it would make sense
that old dogs, they simply sigh,
for lazy days, they will come to be,
in the slowing of our time,
in the waiting for good-bye.
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