Some Little Thoughts

My little dog loves me,
Of that, I am very sure;
We play; we run; we snuggle up in bed;
I feed him biscuits and meat and, sometimes, juicy little bones;
I take pleasure in watching him eat with relish,
In the same way that one takes pleasure in painting a picture,
Or indulging in varied forms of man’s nobler creations:
Playing with my dog has, now, become my preferred form of my recreation.  

He, often, licks my hand as a sign of trust and faith;
He does not care that I am rich or poor;
He does not even care for that which is said
(But speak, not too loudly, please),
But he does care for love, and loving;
He does care for caring, trust, and trusting;
His life makes me so much wealthier,
This simple, silly, fascinating canine: My silky terrier. 

His peach-and-grey coloured coat is quite a sight
As he runs through the grass, at the sound of my call,
Or yelping at nothing, or jumping at birds,
Or, sometimes, trying to pick a fight
With other dogs in neighbouring yards.
But, at feeding times, belligerent and intimidatory concerns,
Important, arcane (one may postulate) canine things,
Are forgotten as the dog’s stomach rejoices: The canine baritone softly sings. 

Man grows, physically, as the centuries fly,
But he grows, mentally, very little, so it seems;
His life is often, much too shallow, and, like glass, completely brittle.
Unlike my dog, which loves for the sake of loving,
Man’s love is of the selfish, covetous type:
He has learned not to trust – and, too often, is not to be trusted,
He has learned that love has a price: It may be bought,
As one buys goods of a different sort. 

Unlike my little terrier, man has yet to learn
That love gives: It asks for naught.
As good friends need never to say ‘sorry’,
So love is all-embracing, and self-effacing,
Being impartial and sacrificial;
Love is whole unto itself; and undenying, generally:
For to love is for its own sake,
It means that love gives: It does not take.