Missionary

I picked you out of the bunch,
because you were the clumsiest,
and you waddled around,
like you were proud of it,
but it was endearing,
and after all,

I was only 7.

 

I sat in the back seat with you,
as my parents drove you home,
and you had a look,
in your chocolate brown eyes,
as you stared out the window,
like you had a mission,
and I knew that that mission,
was to be my best friend.

 

You had irrational fears,
like basements and dirty bathtubs,
and your ribcage was huge,
compared to the rest of you;
probably to hold the full weight,
of every lub and dub,
that your big heart made.

 

On Tuesday,
I lost you,
my best friend,
to frail bones and a broken body,
and I watched you die,
but couldn't look you in the eyes.

 

One of the last things you ever did,

was hide behind my legs,
and before that,
you were pressing your paw,
to my hand,
like you were reassuring me,
that you'd be fine.

 

Your body wasn't human,
but you were human to me,
and so were the clumps,
of black soft fur,
that you left on the tile floor,
of the veterinary office,
as you finished your mission.

Reviews

[Sourav]

After reading this poem I'm thinking why did I read this poem? It brought so many memories to my mind and I can relate to it very strongly. It's kinda painful to me.:) anyways... I've really enjoyed the poem, you've written a wonderful piece.

[SonOfPlunder]

Cleverly written, really like this!