Shep
My old dog Shep would greet the day
Before the sun had found its way.
He’d wait beside the wooden gate
With wagging tail and patient wait.
Across the fields he loved to run,
Chasing sticks and chasing sun.
Through mud and streams and autumn air,
No happier dog was anywhere.
He watched the house both night and noon,
Would bark at wind or rising moon.
But more than all the things he’d do,
He simply stayed so close and true.
Yet time moves on, as time must do,
For dogs and people passing through.
His steps grew slow, his muzzle gray,
The long bright runs began to sway.
One quiet day the yard was still,
No paws to race along the hill.
The gate stood open, wide and free—
But Shep no longer ran to me.
Still when I walk those paths we knew,
I feel him there like morning dew.
For moving on, I’ve come to see,
Means carrying Shep inside of me. 🐾
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