My Dog Is Old

My dog is old

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