My dog is old.
She lays with me.
When mom isn't home.
I hear her little breaths.
Look at her birth white fur
As the only sign of her aging,
are her eyes always bored.
I once feared all of her own
dispissed her teeth,
dispissed her eyes,
dispissed when she went to me
with all her might.
It's different now than before.
I put my hand in her teeth,
I look her straight in the eyes
and if she chases at me,
there's no surprise.
Her nails have grown
her love is bold,
and she has showed me that dogs
are not that bad after all.
But as we walk by the trees,
each leaf falling like every year
she stops more,
more and more,
and doesn't run as far
as she once enjoyed to go
I love her more than anyone
my one child of delight
but love can't blind me
from the years going by.
I play with her
just like every year,
swinging her blue ball on the air
watching her little head stear
But there is no tought
that makes me forget
not even in the most lovely walks
as her tail shakes proudly
and her black eyes stare
that as the leaves are falling
my dog is getting old
and I'm still a little kid
not wanting to let go