Classic Poem

How often have we known a dog to be
More loyal than the race of humankind . . .
Although it seems a dog can somehow see
The very inmost caverns of the mind.

And yet he never looks upon a friend
With scorn, even though the world that friend despise;
And when death claims his master—brings an end
To comradeship—he grieves . . . his sorrowing eyes

Seem questioning, and yet to understand
That this is something that must come to all,
But human folk can turn to tasks at hand
To break the tension of its gloomy thrall.

It may be that the selfsame power that gave
The dog his faithful, understanding heart
Will grant him life again beyond the grave,
To meet with friends—where death can play no part.