2011 - Day 151

Poor old dog wanders
Blind as a bat,
Fur falling off slowly
Chased by alley cats.
Nowhere to go
No man to love,
Legs wobble softly
Birds watch from above.
Memory short,
Stomach so tiny,
Withering sickness
But nobody's crying.
His old owner paused
For a second no less,
Before moving on
The next puppy so fresh.
We live forever
Or so it may seem,
Do dogs go to Heaven?
In stars they do gleam.