Man and Dog

 
 

 

Every morning for twenty years I’ve seen
them come and go, follow the water’s trail
in green and snow, the dog turning from brown
to black, part of the toll on every path, the mean
his master’s always trodden through wind and hail
now solid ground as they trek their way to town,
each sensing the other’s mood and pace,
the man slow, his friend a-trot as down
they go, then swing to where they find the rail
‘s rise, so up, up to the crossing place,
the bridge their crown.