Friday, 27 November 2015

On The Joy Of Dog

I did not understand that there was joy
In long wet miles and freezing icy air,
In endless throwing of some half chewed toy,
Or combing seeds and burrs from matted hair.
I could not know in all my life before,
The joy of morning greeting, the renewal.
That poem of deep, unspoken love which more
Than any mere aubade can fuel
Such fire as keeps a love alight,
Sans jealousy or meanness or suspicion.
A flame that burns not with desire;
Nor yearning for a meeting of two minds,
Is never satisfied but by imagination,
But simply re-establishes, confirms
In gentle nuzzling, or in wild excess
Of bouncing, heart-felt, crazy tenderness,
A bond of love that binds without condition.

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