Lantern hanging in the trees,
Full moon overhead,
An orange moon, a bloody moon,
As I buried my dead!
She'd been a lover for many a year,
A friend so true and brave,
But under that bloody moon
I slaved to dig her grave.
A long-handled Cornish shovel
Digging in the night
The lantern swaying in the trees
Casting a ghastly light.
Tears flowed like salty rivers,
As I looked up at that moon,
I'd rather I'd been howling
Than sobbing like a loon.
I dug that grave so deep and wide,
As far as I could go,
And then I went and fetched her
To lay her down below.
I laid her down in that cold earth,
And shovelled in the soil,
And tears fell upon the sod,
As I finished up my toil.
Lantern hanging in the trees,
Full moon looks down scowling
An orange moon, a bloody moon,
I swear I heard it howling!
I placed some stones above her,
To hold her where she lay,
And whispered to her, as oft before,
'Lobo. Good Dog! Stay!'
Words and bottom Photo Copyright © Res JFB 7th February 2008
This isn't my photo, unfortunately, it was posted as a prompt, along with the title, for a poetry forum/competition some time ago. The poem is mine though and the story is quite true. Lobo was a dog I bought for my son when he was about 10 years old. She was the perfect boy's dog. She'd play football with him for hours. Tow him up and down the flooded clay-pits where we used to go to swim, my son hanging on to her tail as she towed him up and down. A Good Dog.
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