BODHI

 

 

He jumps on the bed

From halfway,

From the fleece step

As usual,

In two graceful arcs.

And,  as usual

It goes  unsaid, 

When he furiously

Round's  and round—

Making the rumpled

Blankets, the best

For his nest

Burrowing, arranging,

Just so—

And so,

Every day

His way to rest

Is the peace place

For us.

 Too.

Who could deny

That he

Is finally safe

There,

On top of the bed,

Buried deep in soft,

Asleep in his world?

Sometimes,

Some delight

May strike his fancy

And the ‘rolly’ wild

Will take over,

With legs kicking in the air,

His happiness free,

His twirled form fly,

Before the settle down,

His care complete.

Then the sound—-

He snores ,

Before the great quiet,

When his legs are still running,

But still in the sleep.

He is deep in the gone.

He is the Boster,

The Botron,

Beau,

Mr. Dog,

Mr. Bo,

Botronimus.

He is Bodhi,

Dog of our heart.