Again, our little cuddle-pup’s tucked in
Beside my hip, as I sit here to write,
Just pondering where my poem might begin
And whether aimed at insight or delight.
But now at hearing kitchen sounds
Suggesting that her breakfast’s being made,
She quickly lifts her agile self and bounds
Towards the spot where her food bowl is laid.
Though mundane as the subject of a verse,
This little episode, in after-years,
May be relived and serve then to disburse
More recollections of our bygone dears.
But wait! Stay here in this delightful Now,
Enjoying this, before I take my bow.