Old Woman With Dogs

TIME, you one-way wind
With a man-made, mellow name,
I am gnarled and horned, as you are not,
Wasted, lone, and lame.
But I’ve three things you’ve not yet got:
I keep these spaniels none may claim,
All, of three dead boys, that’s left me.
One to howl me through the bells,
And make me think of a child’s fear
Brought round to courage, and laughter clear
One to beg me out of doors
To acres I must walk for three,
To thickets quick with a child’s wonder.
And for the late lamp’s chilly legend,
One who whimpers not, nor snores,
But solemn-eyed and constant dwells
With his old jowls warm on my knee.