This Old Hound

We understand each other
This old hound and I
With our aging–
Hell, aged joints
And our life-long struggle
To make ourselves understood.

She of the long toes
Of the curved claws
Of the loud voice–
She who must be heard
Whose eyes describe confusion
At the weakness of age.

Long ago she was young
And carried firewood
and leapt brick walls–
Now she twitches and runs
In sleep-driven memories
In happy loose-jointed dreams
Inspired by a pool of sunlight.

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About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
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