(no subject)

Yesterday, the Metropolitans' big black dog died. He'd had cancer of the prostate since the end of last year, and had been quite ill since Easter.


Q

April 15th, 1995 - April 11th, 2005





( More pictures of the dog to remember him by )

(no subject)

Closing of the Gates

There's no more point in opening the doors,
Folded back gates declaring working days;
Routines hang loose; the time is set no more
By his reliable and regulated ways.

Subtly, the huge black creature's trotting paws
Proclaimed the ceremonies every week and night;
Our ordinary lives all breathed around that core
On which our steps unquestioningly relied.

Still in the corners, chewed-on toys are left,
There are just two where there were two and one;
Tonight, the houses and the courtyards stand bereft,
Our soul, our lir, our secret lar is gone.


(Sorry, is cryptic, but refers to my post before this.)