September Mist
Your name was September Mist
though we all called you Misty
after the color of your coat.
I used to joke you were my aunt
with a beard, grandma's baby
girl, grandma's Schnauzer
You lived a life of luxury,
like a retired executive
golf was your favorite things.
The way the wind blew through
your hair, and into those deep,
dark eyes, as you rode shotgun
in your own personal golf cart.
Though you never cared for clubs,
you kept a collection of balls
always ready for the chase, down
a hallway or across the range
and if the throw was just right,
your mouth open wide, a trap
you managed a hole in one
running back, full of pride.
You loved to bark and run, play
and go for rides and walks,
and thought your eyes showed
the extent of your territory
But old age comes to us all
and you discovered the darkness
as your eyesight dimmed to black.
Your name was September Mist
but we always called you Misty
and as we remember you, our eyes
take on your namesake, and fill
with tears. A dog who lived above
her stature, grandma's best friend.
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