Dog Years Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

The stones accumulate at last
and make you mellow
your public face is quite aghast,
your inner fellow
will wonder what will now become
of your resolve
as inner voices on a drum
play jazz and golf.

It's only milestones says your doc
nothing to worry,
it is not you who will take stock
and when the flurry
of plain arrythmia does arrive
it is too late.
You had such fun while still alive
my friend and mate.

And I insist to hold your hand
with all its sweat
no soul could better understand
a treasured pet.