Poetry Friday: Old Dog by William Stafford

I returned late from visiting my uncle in Florida. This week, I share one of my favorite poems by William Stafford.

Old Dog

Toward the last in the morning she could not
get up, even when I rattled her pan.
I helped her into the yard, but she stumbled
and fell. I knew it was time.

The last night a mist drifted over the fields.
In the morning she would not raise her head–
the far, clear mountains we had walked
surged back to mind.

We looked a slow bargain: our days together
were the ones we had already had.
I gave her something the vet had given,
and patted her still, a good last friend.

– William Stafford, from Someday, Maybe

Poetry Friday is held at The Opposite of Indifference. Tabatha is thinking ahead about National Poetry Month.

Happy Reading.


11 thoughts on “Poetry Friday: Old Dog by William Stafford

  1. Mm. So much said in so few stanzas. We lost our big old dog at the end of summer, and this poem takes me right to him. (And our small old dogs have given us a scare or two lately, but they’re still hanging in there!) Thanks for sharing, Jone.

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