My Klyde

That last special night, my old friend not well,
and those dark eyes asking for love.
Into the night we sat together.
I held him, stroked him, talking soft.
I knew this was to be our last
and I treasured every second.
The vet would come in the morning,
bringing sleep for my pal, his old body
worn and frail.

For the first time, a tear rolls down my face:
I'm losing my best friend,
a friend who asked nothing
but gave so much love.
He knew when I was sad 
and never left my side.

The morning sun arrives,
he feels ready to sleep:
his body gives in as I hold him.
His eyes close, I kiss him for the last time.

Now my Klyde sleeps under greengage and apple,
and I sit there too, and all I wish is to hear his bark
and feel his soft noble forehead:
I miss you so, my friend.