The Old Dog

He sits by the door

And looks out at the rain

As it falls soft and warm on the lawn.

The summer has nearly faded again

And each winter comes with a little more pain

And a little less fight for the storm.

He sits by the door

Looking right through the rain

At a spot on the far side of space.

He’s getting tired of taking the strain,

There are lights going out in the back of his brain,

He’s content to withdraw from the race.