It was a Sunday

Sitting on the porch,
Drizzly rainy day,
Looking out with denial of fate,
Wanting, hoping, concerned.
It was a Sunday.
He had never had to lose a pet.
He knew in the next morning
The time would have to come
To an end of a warm love.

She was a beagle, the opera singer
with thrown back head in a tear.
To cast a song of happiness
To rejoice in your return.
It was loud, yes,
The train whistle approaches.
But he could never scorn,
She adored him and he loved her.

Something like age was never
The concern
When acts of love deliver hope
Unconditionally, never expecting.
Maybe a stroke of fur,
A scratch behind the ear,
She always was at his side.
He felt so much pride
To know she was there.
In those 17 years
He was glad to say
She is the Diva, elated.

It was a good life
Lived well.
With acceptance that Tuesday she will
Only be in his heart.
Mondays will never be the same
After a drizzly rainy day.
It was a Sunday.