My Dog Named Cat

Poem By William W. Sloan

Spring of life, so much like the flowers in the garden, or the leaves on The mighty oak tres, all blooming, all turning green, as days go by,
My dog and I, we used to run free together, through the fields of corn, Down the country lanes, so happy we were, me and my dog named Cat;
When rabbits crossed our path, we chased them until our lungs were about to Burst, then we'd lie there upon the ground breathing in the fresh country Air, and nowhere on earth, was there a happier place;
Summer, the body of life, when all is happening so fast it makes your head Spin, hot days, warm nights, when the sun and stars seem so very close, When maturity sets in on a child's dream on a puppy's playful days;
With work to be done now, we're still together, me and my dog Cat, side by Side we walk through the fields, our eyes still glance for a trace of that Same rabbit;
When day is done, even though we're tired, we hurry back to take up the Chase, and maybe someday soon, we'll catch old rabbit, but I know, in both Of our hearts we hope we never will;
Fall, the Autumn of life, when things slow down, when hair turns gray, and Eye sight fades, when the memories are thought of, more often;
Me and my dog Cat, still walk the fields together, our old friend the Rabbit, is still with us, Cat's bark is growing weaker, and his legs just Aren't the same;
I limp along with them, and seem to keep up somehow, but I'm sure old Cat Sometimes slows down, just for me to catch up, we watch more sunsets now From the porch, than we ever did before;
Winter, the cold and lonely time of life, when sometimes things end, oh, The snow is beautiful to see, as it falls to earth, but the old days are Gone now, gone;
Old Cat doesn't walk with me anymore, when he died my tears fell on his Grave, even old rabbit was there to say goodbye;
I'm sure old rabbit won't be with me in Spring, I suppose I'll sit by the Fire and dream of those good times, memories of me, and my dog named Cat.

Comments about My Dog Named Cat

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

5,0 out of 5
3 total ratings

Other poems of WILLIAM W. SLOAN

In A Crowd

To laugh, to cry, mimics the
Mind, to an emotion,
And singular is the outline seen,
Collectively is its notion;

Where Goes The Wind?

The gray clouds of life boiling within the breast,
following closely behind the clattering thunder,
and all the rest.
A bird sang a mournful song when the south wind blew north,