To watch poor Lily die and be released
From all her chronic, painful maladies,
Which had from month to weary month increased,
Brought her and those who loved her final peace.
We saw how her last breath gently transpired
As she fell to the deepest sleep of all,
What we for ourselves hopefully desired
When captor Death arrests us as his thrall.
Yet now in all our lives a vacancy
Resounds with memories of growls and barks
No longer to be heard with empathy
By someone who to such beseeching harks,
Whose house is not the home it was before
When Lily was its Westie to adore.