A little prayer for Larry

Is there a country, Lord, where thou does keep

A place reserved for dogs that fall asleep?

Large, airy kennels, yards for hiding bones,

A little river chattering over stones,

And wide, green fields for those that never knew

A smoky town, an old worn rug or two

Before a fire where sparks do not fly out -

Sparks are such nasty things to have about.

 

I like to think there is, and so I pray

For one young Newfoundland that died today.

He was so full of fun, not very wise,

The puppy-look still lingered in his eyes;

But he was very dear; he'd come to me

And rest his soft, black chin upon my knee.

 

Thou knowest him. One night not long ago

He tramped with me across the frozen snow;

And there beyond the wood, peaceful and still,

We met Thee walking on the moonlit hill.

Lord, keep him safe, wherever he may be,

And let him always have a thought for me,

That I may hear, when I pass through the dark,

Thy soothing voice, and then a friendly bark.

 

(Mina M. Brown;

A poem that was written about sixty years ago by Mina M. Brown from St. John's on the death of her beloved Newfoundland, Larry, which was bred by the late Hon. Harold Macpherson of Westerland Kennels in St. John's, Newfoundland.)