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<blockquote data-quote="criticalbass" data-source="post: 2567546" data-attributes="member: 711"><p>This has helped me some:</p><p></p><p> The House Dog's Grave (Haig, an English bulldog)</p><p></p><p>I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now</p><p> Run with you in the evenings along the shore,</p><p> Except in a kind of dream; and you, if you dream a moment,</p><p> You see me there.</p><p></p><p> So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door</p><p> Where I used to scratch to go out or in,</p><p> And you'd soon open; leave on the kitchen floor</p><p> The marks of my drinking-pan.</p><p></p><p> I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do</p><p> On the warm stone,</p><p> Nor at the foot of your bed; no, all the night through</p><p> I lie alone.</p><p></p><p> But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet</p><p> Outside your window where firelight so often plays,</p><p> And where you sit to read--and I fear often grieving for me--</p><p> Every night your lamplight lies on my place.</p><p></p><p> You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard</p><p> To think of you ever dying</p><p> A little dog would get tired, living so long.</p><p> I hope than when you are lying</p><p></p><p> Under the ground like me your lives will appear</p><p> As good and joyful as mine.</p><p> No, dear, that's too much hope: you are not so well cared for</p><p> As I have been.</p><p></p><p> And never have known the passionate undivided</p><p> Fidelities that I knew.</p><p> Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided. . . .</p><p> But to me you were true.</p><p></p><p> You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.</p><p> I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures</p><p> To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,</p><p> I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.</p><p></p><p></p><p>Robinson Jeffers, 1941</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="criticalbass, post: 2567546, member: 711"] This has helped me some: The House Dog's Grave (Haig, an English bulldog) I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now Run with you in the evenings along the shore, Except in a kind of dream; and you, if you dream a moment, You see me there. So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door Where I used to scratch to go out or in, And you'd soon open; leave on the kitchen floor The marks of my drinking-pan. I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do On the warm stone, Nor at the foot of your bed; no, all the night through I lie alone. But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet Outside your window where firelight so often plays, And where you sit to read--and I fear often grieving for me-- Every night your lamplight lies on my place. You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard To think of you ever dying A little dog would get tired, living so long. I hope than when you are lying Under the ground like me your lives will appear As good and joyful as mine. No, dear, that's too much hope: you are not so well cared for As I have been. And never have known the passionate undivided Fidelities that I knew. Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided. . . . But to me you were true. You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend. I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures To the end and far past the end. If this is my end, I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours. Robinson Jeffers, 1941 [/QUOTE]
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