My girl is old
Stout and frail,
with wagging tail
Her brown eyes see black,
her black fur now grey
Her colors are changing
but never her heart
Grumpy and loving
always two things at once
Were she of two legs
she shall wear purple,
of four her head swings low
collecting smells to paint her vision
She comes at things sideways
wobbly and bumpy
I guide her with a steady hand
afraid she’ll slip away and away and away