old dogs | Donald Harbour Poetry

I am aware of my own fleshy mortality,
that flying sparrows fall from the sky,
and old dogs finally lay down to die.

I am aware this prismatic life is finite,
that all iron must turn to rust,
and mountains are worn down to dust.

I am aware material hypocrisy is vain,
that gathering objects is all in jest,
and forgotten when we are laid to rest.

I am aware of the cusp of creation,
that a spirit’s fire can never dim,
and we are not forged to this life again.

I am aware that being is what I am,
that we are a momentary flicker of light,
and cosmic voyagers in the infinite night.

There are times
when I am most interested
by the conversation of,
my old dogs barking.

Trekking through the woods
or plowing a field
they are always talking,
my old dogs barking.

When we take a stroll
down cement and asphalt
they are insistent critters,
my old dogs barking.

Remove the leather leash
lay them down on the porch
there is silent reproach from,
my old dogs barking.

Grab some soap and water
wash away their days dirt
yet still they whine,
my old dogs barking.

We have traveled many miles
seen sights seen by few
they were there,companions,
my old dogs barking.

When I am placed in the grave
when my burden is laid low
it will be the only rest I get from,
my old dogs barking.

Donald Harbour Poetry