The hearth lay dim, the midnight chill crept softly through the pane,
Yet something stirred against my feet, a ghost of joy, not pain.
No bark announced its quiet tread, no collar’s jingle came,
But breath as light as downy winds recalled a faithful name.
I dared not move; the years had passed, yet still the soul remains,
And in that hush I felt the warmth that time itself disdains.
A whisper more than touch, a sense that reaches through the veil,
Of one who watched through storm and fire, through sun and winter gale.
Once more I saw those amber eyes, once more that wagging grace,
As though the dark had lent me back a lost and loving face.
Two years or ten, the clock may chime, the world may shift and turn,
But love, once cast in doggèd hearts, will smoulder, flare, and burn.
No tolling bell, no epitaph could voice the bond we keep,
Yet in that fleeting, padded step, I smiled and wept in sleep.
No trumpet sounded in the skies, no earthly tongue could speak,
But memory curled close that night and gently kissed my cheek.
And when I woke, the silence sang with echoes left behind,
A moment’s grace, a spirit’s peace, a comfort rare to find.
No need for words, for paw or leash, for water bowl or lead,
Just fleeting breath and ghostly weight and all the love I need.
Old age and time may claim the flesh, as seasons claim the dew,
But dogs, like dreams of better days, in sleep come padding through.
So let the world in morning break, let lesser things arise,
He sleeps not lost, but curled in thought beneath the starlit skies.
(By John Shenton)