sir saint Patrick, ii
you never would lie next to me on my bed
but when i needed it the most.
i felt you there, that night,
as i wept and begged you to stay.
and when you told us
it was time,
and that you had to go,
that your duty was done;
that i was ready and
god had greater things for you,
i found it funny that
you still found it relevant
to act like a dog,
in a place where we bring dogs to die.
and i think its true,
what our friend ben said:
that love is watching someone die.
i remember laying with you
throughout the night, your breathing heavy,
your paw pads hardened by rough times.
rolling into me, you adjusted your position
and we spoke with our eyes--
you had stolen my voice;
would not allow me to cry.
cory, man, its time for me to die.
and when we finally sent your soul away,
to sail across the seven seas of the sun,
to soar on high to your place within the seraphim,
mother chanced one last look, crying,
across your gilded form,
and saw what you wore for so long,