The Old Dog

The old dog waits patiently for death
like a flower waiting to be folded into a seedpod,
curtains of age hang over his eyes
yet he starts a rabbit
or warns the fugitive sow
with the fury and joy of an image
created now only in memory.
He has lived a life of loyalty and obedience
to the authority from which his own derived
with a few minor lapses
and tried to keep his world
as orderly and well guarded as possible.
Now he seeks a corner that invites
the warm March sun
and with a cornmeal muffin between his paws
asks no description of the kingdom
he will inherit.