Duke’s Last Stand

The grief of losing one’s best friend

Insurmountable until … there is no end

Why the ladder tilted that sad day

I will never know and fate will never say

The wily squirrel chose that path to scamper

And my dear friend without care did ramble

The squirrel nimbled its way through legs of tin

But, Duke, full head of steam could not win

Head first he crashed the ladder leg

Then the bucket from above did peg

Duke’s mighty skull with a thump of dye

And all about the paint did fly

Overwhelmed with grief from that sad day

The ladder positioned same in reverence to stay

And Dear Duke’s ash filled urn set upon that very spot

Where he met his master for the eternal romp

A few nights later, I still bewildered with grief

Sat down beside old Duke seeking some relief

Along with me came stout Jack Daniels to this séance

And together, good old Duke we did reminisce

Jack loosened up my vocal cords and I did howl

Howling to the moon … just like Duke on the prowl

Then filled with … despair, disdain, inconsolable sadness

I picked up the urn of Duke’s essence

Opening the urn, I poured ashes into my hand

And spread them upon my face feeling every strand

Of Duke’s very life and … soul – do dog’s have souls

Or is Duke just a phantom, forever a ghost

Now in a state of rapturous inebriation and howling

I took the entire urn and began flinging, splashing

Dear Duke’s ashes against the wall

Soon to become the canvas for this … storm

Howling louder, flinging harder, the mystic work did form

Finally, with no Duke left, I dropped the empty urn

Falling to me knees in tears, I cried aloud to God

Forgive me for loving the beast more human than a dog

Suddenly, lightening cracked and rain began to pour

On my knees, head down, I puked up all the Jack and more

Then raising head and eyes through the cleansing rain I saw

The most astounding artwork to ever create awe

Only God’s Own Hand could have stroked this painting

Using Duke’s ashes as the pigment for the rendering

Upon the wall a beautiful black rose was brushed

A fountain from which living water would forever gush

And Duke, leaping upward to drink the Rose’s gift

To drink and play in the water and receive the Holy kiss

Contemplating now and trying to believe this art or … fantasy

How could it be anything but a mournful whimsy

Truth and fact are oft-times just another fiction

But upon the wall forevermore is this depiction

And with perfect clarity, I understood the message from above

Eternal joy and life is the gift of Love