We threw away the wicker bed
And gave away the ball
We gathered up the leather leash,
Then kept it after all.
Old dog was much too weary--
Too hurt to run about.
He did not rise that morning.
His exhausted heart gave out.
His eyes were closed forever
And his wagging tail was still.
Softly, softly in the springtime,
He was buried on the hill.
Yet there are times we see him,
Springing toward us on the lawn.
But if we kneel to call him to us,
Llke a shadow he is gone. Author Unknown