Gone, Archie lies still, facing away from the door, his toes to the wall, his beautiful head resting, the tip of his tongue just visible, his eyes staring forward, four feet from where I had last seen him alive, frozen in time.
O Archie, I held you, stroked you, hoped you would revive.
O Archie, gone. Gone your optimism. Gone your joy in life. Gone your scrapping, your stick chasing, your ball shredding, your compost bin charge, the walk to the Unicorn, your wait by the local store, your fart from beneath the dining table.
Gone.
O Archie, I held you, stroked you, hoped you would revive.
O Archie, gone. Gone your optimism. Gone your joy in life. Gone your scrapping, your stick chasing, your ball shredding, your compost bin charge, the walk to the Unicorn, your wait by the local store, your fart from beneath the dining table.
Gone.
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