When all’s asleep and night is calm,
And cats on windows, birds in trees and even owls rest,
A dog wakes up. He’s heard
The call of that one bird.
The birds that sings
And in the middle of the night, when mice and hens, the rooster too,
All share that one slow rhythm, of dreams and peace,
A dog gets up and moves along; he wants just one more pat
Before his master leaves.
For the lone bird had sung.
His master sleeps, his breath so soft, as quiet as the night.
He knows, more than he feels, his dog is by his side.
And in his slumber state he strokes his dog, once more, the last.
Then breathes all out, hand slides away and… just like that, he’s gone.
And birds and hens, the mice, the trees
Still sleep the night’s deep sleep.
The dog barks once; he jumps from bed
And whines and licks the hand,
Last time so kind, so warm, yet never to pet again.
And with the first rays of new day, when world’s aroused with hope,
The house where his master lived is all awake, in mourn.
The hens cluck, busy; eggs are done! The rooster calls the time.
And birds sing sweetly, the cat meows, she stretches, looks around.
Yet no one’s there to pick the eggs, to feed the cat, to smile.
“He’s gone,” barks dog. “He went last night.”
“He’s gone,” his soft whine cries.
“The bird had sung. I heard.”
They came at lunch time, with a van.
Mom’s lost, everyone sobs.
They took him with and yet… the dog still sits and waits.
He’s waiting by the gate
That if the one bird comes to sing once more,
His master will return.
© Patricia Furstenberg, 2018
You can discover more of my poetry through Amazon.
Subscribe to my e-Newsletter for fun and informative content on dogs, books, history, folklore and a castle or two: