The Passing Of A Dog

This kindly friend of mine who’s passed
Beyond the realm of day,
Beyond the realm of darkling night,
To unknown bourne away

Was one who deemed my humble home
A palace grand and fair;
Whose fullest joy it was to find
His comrade ever there.

Ah! He has gone from out my life
Like some dear dream I knew.
A man may own a hundred dogs,
But one he loves, and true.

Anonymous.

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Passing Of A Dog

JACK

Dog Jack has gone on the silent trail,
Wherever that may be;
But well I know, when I whistle the call,
He will joyfully answer me.

That call will be when I, myself,
Have passed through the Gates of Gold;
He will come with a rush, and his soft brown eyes
Will glisten with love as of old.

Oh, Warder of Gates, in the far-away land,
This little black dog should you see,
Throw wide your doors that this faithful friend
May enter, and wait for me.

H.P.W.

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Poem For Death of Dog

THE BOND

When I call my terrier by his name,
Or join him at evening play;
His eyes will flash with a human flame
And he looks what he cannot say;
For the bond between us two
Is that between me and you!

Should a seraph sing in my ear tonight,
Or a sweet voiced angel come.
Would poor speech prove my soul’s delight,
Or ecstasy drive me dumb?
For the link ‘twixt them and me
Is long as Eternity.

Wide leagues our sentient forms divide
The loftier from the mean;
But soul to soul all planes are tied
When sympathy lies between;
And who shall say that the brute
Is soulless, though mean and mute?

George H. Nettle.


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Pets In Paradise

TO ONE IN PARADISE

Thou wast all that to me, love,

For which my soul did pine-

A green isle in the sea, love,

A fountain and a shrine,

All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,

And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!

Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise

But to be overcast!

A voice from out the Future cries,

“On! on!”- but o’er the Past

(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies

Mute, motionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! me

The light of Life is o’er!

“No more- no more- no more-”

(Such language holds the solemn sea

To the sands upon the shore)

Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree

Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,

And all my nightly dreams

Are where thy grey eye glances,

And where thy footstep gleams-

In what ethereal dances,

By what eternal streams.

Edgar Allan Poe

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D… O… G…

Depart Odoriferous Grief

An excited yelp…
A warning growl…
A cry for help…
A lonely howl…
Just some of the sounds in the air,
I long to hear.

A cold nose kiss…
Warm tongue washes…
Tail wagging bliss…
Welcome-home bounding crashes!
Memories, more than I can bear …
I wish you were here.

A bowl full of food not touched,
A habit not easily broken.
For your leash I reached,
A painful reminder – your name unspoken.
A faithful companion no longer near.
The parting of a friend dear.

May your forever be,
Frolicking across sun-kissed meadow…
Midday rests under the shady tree…
Where cool waters continuous flow.
Run free my friend – do not fear…
Just allow me the occasional tear.

© 2008 Petmemorialworld

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There hath past away a glory from the earth.

The rainbow comes and goes,

And lovely is the rose;

The moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare;

Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where’er I go,

That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

Then, sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!

And let the young lambs bound

As to the tabor’s sound!

We, in thought, will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play,

Ye that through your hearts to-day

feel the gladness of the May!

What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be now for ever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind;

Extract from
Ode On Intimations Of Immortality From Recollections Of Early Childhood: By William Wordsworth

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Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye (1904-2004)

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