Where's Dad? J.M. Strother He sits beside the window, waiting for that old expected sound of the car shifting into park. But it never comes. He stands beside the front door, Head cocked to one side, then another, Wishing for jingle of his keys. The door does not move. He lies beside the arm chair Night after night; heaves a heavy sigh. The chair remains empty and cold. Now forever cold. Tail seldom wags; ears droop low. He lingers long now, downstairs at night, Comes to bed late, when house is still. Oh, so very still. He looks to me with questions, Unspoken, yet so plainly asked. Sadly; unable to explain. How can I explain?

Its amazing how animals, supposed mindless automatons to some, can express what they're feeling.

No one who shares their life with an animal would mistake them for a mindless automaton. They feel, they love, they grieve. They speak with the langauge of the heart. When my father died, his cat was inconsolable for weeks. Years have past and he still will not sleep in my father's old chair. A friend of mine was telling me about two dogs she had. One was a young animal; the other was much older. The older female had to be put to sleep because of cancer. The younger one literally starved himself to death out of his grief for her. Thank you, Jon. I've been in that situation. How do you explain to a creature whose language we haven't bothered to learn? We expect them to understand what we say....we know so little of their communications. Take care.

I've only ever had puss cats and goldfish (not including the tragic hamster from school who died within 24hrs of coming home from school of old age, we didn't have it long enough to count as a pet.), but dogs have always seemed to me to have a lot of the qualities of young children, better behaved, but innocently trusting, amazingly loyal little creatures happy to make you the centre of their universe. Just as with a child, how can you explain indeed? Nice poem jstro. Shanna :-) ps if this isn't meant to follow one of those syllable constricted poetry styles, shouldn't it be "waiting for the jingle of his keys"?

I meant wishing for, soz Shanna :-)

I was shooting for 7-9-8-5, so it was somewhat contracted to fit. Why 7-9-8-5? Because that was what the first verse came out to and I liked the meter of it when I read it aloud. No idea if it fits into any official poetry style or not. Also struggled with half counts, such as cocked. I don't really read that as two seperate beats, so I counted the previous line as 9 1/2 and called it close enough. :-) I really wrote it from my mom's point of view. She was the one home with the dog after my dad died. The dog lived at least another 10 years, but I don't think he ever really got used to my dad not being there. jon

It's very well done, and is especially poignant with the war going on. I wouldn't dare try to make any suggestions on changing the poem.

I found it lovely. Touched a warm spot.