On a freshly painted morning, when the colors of life were at
It's most blinding ardor, there walked a man and beside him his dog.
I paused to spectate and slowed was then the sands' trickling off to sea
As how soft a man's smile may be, the tree and beside it his dog.
Bowed in a posture so humble, seemingly, as master and friend
Shared earth and grass and filthy streams, passing cars, beside him his dog.
The sun had leapt, high and orange, pearly sweat on skin and slobber
Beckoned them back to the brown lodge, the man and beside him his dog.
I saw them become specks far off the stony road that led to home,
As I too made my earnest way back to strife, beside me my dog.
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