by St. John Lucas
The curate thinks you have no soul;
I know that he has none. But you,
Dear friend, whose solemn self-control,
In our foursquare familiar pew,
Was pattern to my youth- whose bark
Called me in summer dawns to rove-
Have you gone down into the dark
Where none is welcome- none may love?
I will not think those good brown eyes
Have spent their life of truth so soon;
But in some canine paradise
Your wraith, I know, rebukes the moon,
And quarters every plain and hill,
Seeking his master...As for me,
This prayer at least the gods fulfill:
That when I pass the flood and see
Old Charon by the Stygian coast
Take toll of all the shades who land,
Your little, faithful, barking ghost
May leap to lick my phantom hand.
4/98-11/99
In memory of our beloved Skye.
A trusted friend & faithful companion.
In such a short life, she filled our hearts with such joy and love. My dreams are filled with you.
We will miss you always, but your memory will live forever in our hearts.
5/93-11/99
In memory of my heart hound.
My teacher, my friend, my support.
What you have given so freely, could never be measured. You footsteps that brought such joy and your kisses that always made me smile, will be missed.
Though I can not hug your big furry face, my heart will always hold you close.