Gentle Giant of Hope.
There I sat, stroking you again today,
Your soft fir a certainty under my fingers,
As certain as you were my companion and friend,
Until it had to end.
Your ball-sense and attraction to the apples of others,
Reminded me, that the way to home and work and home again,
Was not all that tickled your fancy,
But a mouth-watering chicken leg here,
And an half-filled water bottle there,
Secured the smile on my face, (no don’t lick my face).
Now my bed is your heaven,
But not my pillow yet,
And as I sit here lovingly stroking your head,
I know that you didn’t only take my bed,
Not only messed with my head, but ran into my heart,
With your bushy tailed enthusiasm,
I love you:
Black, with a little grey, gentle thief of my heart.