He used to run ahead,
Stop, sniff, and raise his leg
Marking this bush, that fallen tree
Making this wood his own domain
Happy and free.
And where the foot-worn way
Divided, he'd always stop and stay
Three paces on the lower fork
That led down to the deeper wood
Which promised him a longer walk -
and deer. Gave us that backward look
To see which of the paths we took.
And if we'd follow him,
Take off, given his head,
Ears flapping in the wind.
And if we chose the path that led
Up to the open hill instead
He'd register the way it went
Without resentment or complaint,
Change to our path and run ahead
Happy to be alive.
(c) Richard Lawson
Dolberrow feb 2017
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