Mom called us from our play
that warm summer day to wash
and get ready for dinner. As
we sat at our places, Little Duke
came to each of us -
his once shiny black coat
now grey as dingy smoke.
Duke looked up, cocked his head;
we automatically knew he wanted
his usual tucks under his chin and
pats on his head before going to his
bowl and enjoying his dinner, then
falling asleep on his blanket bed.
On his last June evening, he shuffled
to Dom and then me, to Mom and even
to Dad who never paid him attention,
however, this night for some reason
Dad gave in and gave him chin tuck
and a gentle pat on the head.
Duke then ambled to his blanket bed
Came the morning he lay cold and dead
We never guessed our family dog
was performing his own epilogue.
My brother and I wrapped him in his blanket
Carried him into the backyard, buried
him near the weeping willow tree, where
he liked to lie next to us while we read
Nailed a cross with wood from the garage
placed it at the front of his grave, gathered
blooming lilacs, made a flower montage
The cross now gone, the flowers blown away
yet, when I visit my parents still in the house
I walk under that weeping willow, remember
Little Duke -
a good dog,
a fun dog
a boy’s loyal friend.
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Writing Prompt |
Write a poem of any type and any length that tells a story. |
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Story Poem Contest Winner
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