by Michael Groetsch
I walk with him,
In fields of green,
Seldom heard,
Rarely seen.
He stalks the scent,
Of fresh cut grass,
Inhaling moments,
Forever last.
I rub his fur,
With strokes of haste,
Waging tail,
Licking face.
We sit as One,
In fields of green,
Seldom heard,
Rarely seen.