by Anna Bienemann Crosby
Here in the garden he will lie
Under forsythias, green and gold.
Here in the garden, where brown bees fly
Back and forth o'r the zinnias bold.
Black was his coat and tan his feet.
Always with dignity would he move
Save when he galloped, us to meet -
Then we'd have laughed, but for our love.
Two dogs long and a half dog tall.
Three dogs around, so stout was he.
He always came at the softest call -
"Noodle!" we'd whisper - and there he'd be.
One morning he waddled in the door,
And, looking, we saw that he'd met his fate.
The blood from his wounds ran down on the floor.
We tried to save him, but it was too late.
Here we shall lay him, where once he played.
No more his small shape will be seen.
Here in the garden his body is laid
Under forsythias, gold and green.
Submitted by Mary Ellis Turner to The American Dachshund, 20th Anniversary Issue, September, 1959. Photo: unknown, 1920s.
1 comment:
What a powerful poem. She must have loved him very much, to take pen to paper. You can feel her pain- Thanks for sharing.....
Kim
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