On The Death Of My Pet-Dog Tom. Poem by Subrata Ray

Hello My Sweet Tom,
Undone I am to bear,
The deepest sorrows for your leave,
When the cycle of my birth revives,
The family and the friends,
Rises on love to wish,
I feel the shade of black pall,
And wear a shroud to mourn,
How on the day of your death,
My poor vagabond was born!

The coming tomorrows,
Would never be your foot-prints,
To the few steps from home,
On return from my school
No one there eagerly wait,
After day's drudgery take me retreat,
With jocund dance for a treasure to restore,

How I would forget the quarrel,
Between you and my three children,
Where your urge for me to intervene,
And pass for you a favorable verdict.

Your watching eyes more of my son and wife,
Stretched psychic-air around the home,
And at night sitting beside my table,
Your warning bark commanded my sleep,
And on business, for my few days absence,
How childishly you cried and wept.

How could you leave me as an waif, how!
Your poor father now have unfathomed grief,
And there is no closet to hold your love,
The memory is not a place,
To preserve and worship,
Your cosy hug and spritely ply,
All were alive a few hours ego,
And with your departure,
Now the world turns into gay-gray dye.