Master, Every Puddle and Me | Poetry

Margaret Ellis, Brighouse

Two ghosts walked over the hills today.
Still with me as they were wont to be.
One ghost ran ahead as he ever did.
Master, Every Puddle and me.

Every Puddle was a Labrador.
He was as black as a witch’s cat.
We two shared his joyous love of life.
He made very sure of that.

He was the light of his master’s eyes.
They tramped the hills each and every day
Climbed ever upwards, heard wild birds’ cries
Talked to other dog folk on the way.

The years went swiftly by as years do.
Whiskers round the black chops turning grey.
But the joy of his living was still there.
“Come on. Come on. Hurry Up,” he’d say.

An empty dog bed. A black ghost
running ahead where he’d always be.
We three still walked the hills together
Master, Every Puddle and me.

Then time took its toll and Master’s steps
slowed to a gentle amble. I could see
That soon two ghosts would walk the hill tops
Master and Every Puddle and me.

Now two ghosts roam the hills together.
Walking where they always want to be.
Ghosts climbing to the deep blue beyond
Master and Every Puddle still with me.