"The Long Kiss Goodbye"
by Julia Driscoll
Your dark liquid eyes
Shimmering cascade tail
graceful gentle nature
A legacy of your proud Arabian heritage.
My gleaming silver coated Satin
Colour of the moon
You will remain a feather-soft touch on my soul
You will remain with me forever in memories of our quiet times and our
playful times
following me on walks
racing me up the hill
and I will reach out to your dreamy thoughts in your heaven-world with my
love.
Each feed prepared with salty tears and infinite love.
Will this be your last?
Will this be your last day under the warmth of the sun?
Will this be your last night of velvet darkness under the glittering
stars?
Five days is not long enough to say goodbye.
It is an eternity.
My arms around your soft warm neck
my face buried in your mane
dampening you with my sorrow, my grief, my guilt
while you nuzzle me, comforting me
Unaware.
"You're doing it because you love her
You don't want her to suffer"
Platitudes
They do not help me while I plan your death
I am your Judas.
Farewell, old friend
It is time now for you to sleep beneath the fig trees.
I cannot stay.
I cannot bear to
I am so sorry
Will you forgive me?
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"What Is Dying"
by Bishop Brent, 1862-1929
(Bishop of the Philippines)
I am standing on the sea shore.
A ship at my side spreads her white
sails to the morning breeze and
starts
for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty
and I stand and watch her
until at last she fades
on the horizon.
Then someone at my side says
"There she has gone" -
Gone where?
Gone from my sight - that is all.
She is just as large in the mast,
hull and spars as she was
when she left my side... the
diminished size and total loss
of sight is in me and not in her,
and just at that moment when
someone by my side says
"She's gone", others take up
the glad shout -
"There she comes".
"Death is not the end of our journey
It is only the beginning."
- St Susan
"It's not the end,
It's not even the beginning of the end.
But it may be the end of the beginning."
-Winston Churchill.
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Ki-Ki
"..Of course, over nearly twenty years
you can't expect drama every day;
and, if anything, that was Ki-Ki's
motto. We all settled into a routine,
a schedule. In the morning, she would
wake us up: time to be fed. In the
evening, when we came home, she would
let us know that she had missed us.
And oh yes, it's time to be fed. Then
when we settled in, she would cuddle in
and let us know that it was time to
love on her.
So now Ki-Ki is gone, after all these
years. So what can you do? Not much,
I suppose. Except this howl, this cry,
this loving wail into the sky that I
love you, Ki-Ki, and as long as I exist
you'll never be forgotten."
-Danny's message
to the Petgrief Newsgroup
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-A Mother's Lullaby-
Last night I saw a bunny
On a moonlit hill
His nose was wrinkled funny,
He sat as still as still.
I whistled just to tease him,
He quickly ran away.
His bobtail seemed to tell me,
"I'll see you another day."
And so perhaps tomorrow
On that moonlit hill,
My bunny will be waiting
Just sitting still as still.
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"To my darling boy, Cocoa.
When you left a week ago,
you broke my heart.
One day you will greet me at the Rainbow Bridge,
but until then I will see
you in my dreams
and keep you in my thoughts every day.
I dedicate this
poem to your memory.
I will love you forever.
Your mum, Linda..."
...To A Siamese Cat
I shall walk in the sun alone
Whose golden light you loved:
I shall sleep alone
And, stirring, touch an empty place:
I shall write uninterrupted
(Would that your gentle paw
Could stay my moving pen just once again!).
I shall see beauty
But none to match your living grace:
I shall hear music
But not so sweet as the droning song
With which you loved me.
I shall fill my days
But I shall not, cannot forget:
Sleep soft, dear friend,
For while I live you shall not die.
By: Michael Joseph -
From "Charles: The Story of a Friendship" (1952)
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Little Cat Feet
by Jane Comstock
Prints of little cat feet in the concrete
Once damp by my kitchen door,
But the flash of color that made them
Answers not to my call any more.
The sound of his purr call is silent,
His blanket of blue laid away;
There is vacancy where was his basket,
With its fluff of gold fur where he lay.
There is no flash of gold in the garden,
Butterflies pause at their ease;
Unheeded the voice of his playmates
In their scamper to limbs of tall trees.
Dear little cat feet in the concrete,
Memorial carved in rude art;
Not alone by the door of my kitchen,
But inside the door of my heart
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