Enga mellom fjella

Shooting the dog

Shooting the dog

And there comes a time
when pity must be put aside,
the rise and fall of life and death
acknowledged in the breath,
last breath,
of some beloved pet.

She wobbled now, unable to stand.
He whined and would not eat.
We fed it bottles by our hand.
Sad, the lost lamb's bleat.

And did my forefathers die this way,
held in two arms like beloved strays,
succored till the end?
Forfend that day, then
face it as one must:
for smoke that rises from cold ashes
only returns as dust.

© Kåre Enga 2007 [164.276] 2007-10-07

I was talking to a barista's mother yesterday. She grew up on a farm. We spoke about the reality of death.

Me? Okay so far today. I reactivated my other blog to do some housekeeping and hope to do it again soon. Even posted an entry and a poem, "Saturn"!

It is work to maintain my portfolio. Need to choose a task and focus on it. Need to promote some things again, too.

IMAGE: puddles

Kansas: 63º and clouds breaking up ... we've had rain.

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