Ode to Cleo


The woods calls with its last year’s leaves scattered about the dried grass.
new sprigs of green poke through the cold saturated ground.
I am amazed at their determination, pressing through even after
unseasonable cold weather has hit with a blanket of snow
that did not drive them back nor wilt their edges. 
No, they still stayed strong in their ascent and I envied and admired
their strength.
This year I will walk those trails once more,
the grass caressing my legs, as I make my way,
but this time, behind me, I know, will follow
a ghostly figure – one who loved the woods with a passion only matched by my own.
She will be there, her spirit beside me, her tail wagging in the sunlight, her nose sniffing the ground. 
Running with the lightness and energy of a puppy,
the burden of her aged and traitorous body gone forever.
Yes her spirit will live on in the place that she loved. 
There will be no more waiting to be free to roam and frolic,
and her undying presence will comfort those that she protected. 
I know this, because I feel her there. 

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