inclines his huge old head
extending invitations to patrol.
Vasco is tallest
black as new tarmac
sunblasted like old stones.
What stories he could tell,
what bonds of brotherhood he could recount:
oldest, strongest, wisest.
Soon he will sleep by moist pebbles,
in dappled shade,
in sight of the old bridge.
Midi-Pyrénées, August 2010
Vasco is a resident of one of the villages we stayed in on holiday, a very large and old black dog (though not as old as the fictional version of him in the lines above), who my daughter fell in love with.
No comments:
Post a Comment