They call it stroke. <br />Two we loved were stunned <br />by that same blow of cudgel <br />or axe to the brow. <br />Lost on the earth <br />they left our circle <br />broken. <br /> <br />One spent five months <br />falling from our grasp <br />mute, her grace, wit, <br />beauty erased. <br />Her green eyes gazed at us <br />as if asking, as if aware, <br />as if hers. One night <br />she slipped away; <br />machinery of mercy <br />brought her back <br />to die more slowly. <br />At long last <br />she escaped. <br /> <br />Our collie dog <br />fared better. <br />A lesser creature, she <br />had to spend only one day <br />drifting and reeling, <br />her brown eyes <br />beseeching. Then she <br />was tenderly lifted, <br />laid on a table, <br />praised, petted <br />and set free.<br /><br />Julie Hill Alger<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-in-the-family-2/
