The Last Battle
If it should be that I grow frail and weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done
For this - the last battle- can't be won.
You will be sad I understand,
But don't let grief then stay your hand,
For on this day, more than the rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.
We have had so many happy years,
You wouldn't want me to suffer so.
When the time comes, please, let me go.
Take me to where to my needs they'll tend,
Only, stay with me until the end
And hold me firm and speak to me
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you will agree
It is a kindness you do to me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I have been saved.
Don't grieve that it must be you
Who has to decide this thing to do;
We've been so close - we two - these years,
Don't let your heart hold any tears.
**** *** ***
This next poem was written by a dear client after her precious cat Stanley was put to sleep
Laying outside imbibing birdsong
is not out of the ordinary, but on this day we wait.
Needle in shaved paw sends him fifty fathoms deep
to twitch away in peaceful kitten sleep
and slink burning bright through grass and sun,
where loving is one
of life's sprung traps.
Smaller but undiminished
his odd call and purr
remain like wet paw prints,
as happy sounds in the air.
I may catch him sometimes
through half closed eye as he lies curled
in a sun-puddle in the garden, back from sea.