Pals

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You see us every morning,
A common pair are we,
Each on a leash’s ending
My little dog and me.
We amble village byways
In bright or dismal weather;
You may not think there’s much in that,
But we have fun together.

No many-stranded cable
Could bear the jokes that pass
Between my little comrade
And me — my! how we sass!
But how we give assurance
That we don’t really mean it!
(A dog-and-man companionship
Is balm to him who’s seen it.)

He greets his dog friends gayly,
While I to neighbors speak;
He sometimes finds a treasure –
A bone that’s lost its meat!
He talks with dogs or children,
While I swap views with master . . .
I had this thought the other day,
While visiting with Pastor.

“When dog and I have rambled on
Beyond this mundane scope,
And seen the Golden Gateway,
(From the inside, we hope!)
We won’t pause on the highway
Made smooth for feet more sainted,
But wander down some quiet land,
And start to get acquainted.

We hope there’ll be a hydrant,
A friendly tree or two,
Some drying leaves to shuffle,
A field to wander through.
We’ll glory in our freedom,
And need no leash of leather;
It really will be Heaven, Lord,
As long as we’re together.”

John E. Donovan

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