What is the difference, really,
between an Ode and an Elegy?
It is no longer a question of
pedantic form, but
of a life well lived
Lived in a world without
The trivial distinctions
We clutch so dearly
To our misbegotten breasts
And so your breath may now be
wizened and irregular at the end,
but what a steady friend
you have been
The excitement of familiar faces
Always shone in your eyes,
Your whimsy at a cloud,
A smell, a rug, a hug
The stillness of your sighs
While you slept on the floor
So patient, you rascal you
Smelly, dragging, curious:
Funny and sincere
Your grey floppy laughter
And your glinting eyes
Your stubborn sniffs,
Your reluctant kisses,
Your eager leaps
Your curly ears
The curlicue wrinkles
Next to your eyes
Your frowny smile
Your small head
And large body
And your tender fear
of the trucks that rattle by
on the grey roads
Why for a minute, can’t we be still,
can’t we be quiet? Why must we dash
and rumble and always forget?
I wish that I lingered with you,
you wise old man,
In your small and shaggy realm
Oh, my dear, steadfast friend.
Friend of all, friend to all (though nippy at other pooches)…
A friend of the ground, you always were,
A friend of the earth, you are.