Old Red
--for Stan and Nancy Noyes
It seems I am always writing
about dogs, or snakes, or crows.
Maybe it's because I find them
so much more interesting finally
than most humans with their ways
that lead so gracelessly to death.
Old Red. Big Irish setter (almost),
running like hell across the meadows
of my childhood, a ball or a stick
in his soft mouth, his eyes warm
me even now as I ruffle his ears
pick up the stick and throw it
clear to forever, where he lives.
Keith Wilson
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