2d • Share your Poems
The White Around His Eyes
He doesn't chase the wind the way he used to.
He watches it now,
like an old friend passing by.
The gray around his muzzle
didn't arrive overnight.
It came one season at a time,
alongside every adventure,
every muddy trail,
every stick he proudly carried home
as though he had discovered treasure.
His steps are slower now.
The stairs ask a little more of him.
Cold mornings settle into his bones.
He sleeps longer,
dreaming, I hope,
of fields where his legs were young
and every sunrise promised another adventure.
Yet when I reach for my keys,
his eyes still shine.
Not because he wants the longest walk
just because he wants to be with me.
That's the beautiful thing about old dogs.
They stop counting miles.
They only count moments.
A quiet afternoon beside your chair.
A gentle hand resting on their head.
The sound of your voice saying their name
as if it has always been the most important word in the world.
One day, I'll notice
he doesn't hear me call.
His leash will hang by the door,
his bowl will sit untouched,
and the house will somehow become
far too quiet.
But love like his
doesn't leave with the footsteps.
It settles into the floorboards,
waits by every doorway,
rides beside me in an empty passenger seat,
and reminds me that the greatest hearts
sometimes beat beneath four paws.
Growing old is never easy.
Not for us.
Not for them.
But if love leaves silver around a muzzle,
then he has earned every single white hair.
And I would choose every one of them again.
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The White Around His Eyes
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