Tuesday, January 17, 2017


                      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.