On the Death of my Portuguese Water Dog Hershey
Saturday, 26th July 2008


My love, my beauty,

My angel boy,

May your spirit soar and be my guide

Through the desolate landscape

Of my grief.

The summer’s lost its lustre…

Sun, cloud or rain – it’s much the same,

And garden tasks - once pleasurable,

now urge my sagging soul

To stay some course for fear of dying too.



Wait for me, boy,

I’ll come when fate decrees.

Till then rouse me with bright brown eyes

And panting tongue,

With tousled head and pressing lean,

Prod me with woolly paw and short sharp woof

To rise from lethargy

to play

Among the sunny memories of love.

Barb and Pete TT