Paw Prints on My Heart
You know,
I still try to call your name
when I stumble in the door
frustrated and tired
in need of a smile, a laugh.
I still reach for your
soft, wooly, white fur
to warm my hands
in this frozen house.
I still feel your nose
nudging my hand,
begging for just one
more belly rub.
I still smell you –
the smell of grass and dirt,
and of the adventure
you always seemed to find.
I still hear you whimper
in the mornings,
eager to play
in the morning air.
I still see your eyes –
those pretty blues,
sometimes pleading,
forever defiant.
I still miss you,
and I always will,
because you left your
paw prints on my heart.
To my MalaPie, puppy face.
April 1, 2008 – July 8, 2010.
I still try to call your name
when I stumble in the door
frustrated and tired
in need of a smile, a laugh.
I still reach for your
soft, wooly, white fur
to warm my hands
in this frozen house.
I still feel your nose
nudging my hand,
begging for just one
more belly rub.
I still smell you –
the smell of grass and dirt,
and of the adventure
you always seemed to find.
I still hear you whimper
in the mornings,
eager to play
in the morning air.
I still see your eyes –
those pretty blues,
sometimes pleading,
forever defiant.
I still miss you,
and I always will,
because you left your
paw prints on my heart.
To my MalaPie, puppy face.
April 1, 2008 – July 8, 2010.