A beautiful poem written by my 12 year old (13 next month, how did that happen) about the death of granny's dog. Dougal was bitten by a tick and got Lyme's disease poor thing, only 5.
THE SEALED BOX
The sealed box, never to be opened,
Made and carved with pristine wood,
Even dust won’t abolish its beauty,
Sitting there, in peace,
Trotting, running, sprinting,
Diving, curving, round trees into ponds,
For nothing more than what you hurl,
The naive mind, all of us,
But the day, time, place, bite,
Led to jab, flame,
After loss of legs,
Into black marking, painful dust,
Meaning…
The sealed box, never to be let out,
Made and carved with pristine wood,
Even dust won’t abolish his beauty,
Sitting there at peace.
Made and carved with pristine wood,
Even dust won’t abolish its beauty,
Sitting there, in peace,
Trotting, running, sprinting,
Diving, curving, round trees into ponds,
For nothing more than what you hurl,
The naive mind, all of us,
But the day, time, place, bite,
Led to jab, flame,
After loss of legs,
Into black marking, painful dust,
Meaning…
The sealed box, never to be let out,
Made and carved with pristine wood,
Even dust won’t abolish his beauty,
Sitting there at peace.
What a moving and eloquent poem - a gifted near-teen!
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