Gone Eight In The Evening.

We went walking out last Thursday,

It was gone eight in the eve.

Just me and myself and my young mutt,

Who was quite glad to weave

All along the sidewalks,

Her shiny nose pressed to the floor.

As we hit 3k, she turned and barked,

“Come on, dad. Let’s walk some more!”

We pressed onward with our striding,

Six legs in quiet unison.

Down path and lane, cross field and track,

Into the setting sun.

My companion was so eager,

To explore each new scent and sight

As, together hound and master,

Marched into the unfolding night.

We strode the overgrown old trail

That marks the edge of the golf tees,

Where wild brambles and treacherous ground

Are shadowed by tall, forbidding trees.

By now the light was fading,

Shadows fell to blight our way,

Walking the spooky path together,

We emerged to the last light of the day.

An hour after setting out,

With almost 6k in the can,

Our weary legs turned for home,

To the comforts of dog and man.

She to her cozy, fireside bed,

Me to my favoured seat.

Where master and mutt could rest awhile,

And take the weight off six tired feet.

One Comment Add yours

  1. Brian Dimmock says:

    I like very much.

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