A Poem- My First Christmas Without My Dog

The sounds of his collar,

tags jingling down the hall.

His head is not perched on my bedside no more.

He is not here,

He does not need to be fed.

I awake in the morning,

with sleep in my eyes,

thinking I have to bundle up to take him outside.

As my mind wakes up, just a bit more,

my eyes start to focus on his urn near the door.

Now a friendly, furry, ghost from Christmas’s past,

are what I have now but I still feel blessed.

Cleaning the room for the Christmas tree

I find yet another one of his doggy hair, tumble weeds.

In memory of him, photos are placed;

tucked in the branches

light’s glowing near his face.