Loyalty
In an old, old cottage
at the end of the path,
sits an old, old man
by his glowing hearth,
making notes in the margins
of an old, old book
and the notes are in Gaellic,
if you'd care to look.
His gnarled hands tremble
as he makes each mark.
The sun is setting
and it's growing dark.
By his chair lies a hound
soaking up fire's heat.
He is no longer able
to rise to his feet.
As the last note is scrawled
and he hopes that it's read
the hand of the master
strokes the old hound's head.
At the last streak of daylight
at the last glowing ember,
each breathes their last...
will another soul remember?
By cherryk
© 2009 cherryk
(All rights reserved)
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