“An old reliable dog”

Loping at dusk through the dew-silvered clover,  
Grey at the muzzle but eager all over,  
Tail like a pennant and eyes wise and deep,  
He dozes at hearthstones and wakes from his sleep  
When bootsteps return from the day’s muddy mile—  
He’s old, he’s reliable, warm as a smile.  

Remember the summers when daisies grew tall?  
He fetched every stick, hearing every faint call.  
Chasing the gulls on the leaf-spattered sand,  
Trusting your kindness, your food, and your hand.  
Countless the secrets you’d whisper at night,  
His ear on your knee, his head silver-white.  

His joints creak like oaks in a windstriped November,  
But patience and courage still live in his timbre.  
He’s patient with puppies, forgiving and slow,  
Moving through shadows that only he knows.  
The postman, the thunder, all pass without harm;  
He’s old, and he’s steady, a soft spot, a charm.  

One day, perhaps, you’ll walk fields all alone,  
Crying his name to the wide-shouldered dawn.  
But today, let him ramble the wild garden’s edge,  
Sniffing the violets and bramble and hedge.  
Stroke his broad brow and remember with pride:  
Old, yes—but so faithful, so true by your side.

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