Missing

Last night I dreamt of Sullie, We were walking in the park And Sullie ran in sheer delight, I could almost hear him bark. Just like a silent movie But in colour, very bright, Sullie chased at all the leaves Just like a puppy might, And only certain sounds came through, Like the rustle as we walked, The chain round Sullie’s furry neck And the birds that Sullie stalked. Then just as dreams drift out of sense Old George was sitting there, Fishing over by the pond In his leatherette armchair, And Sullie bounded over In his usual doggy way But he got far too excited So I sent him off to play, But when I’d finished chatting And began to look around The park was green and empty And I listened for his sound. Then I called and called for Sullie, I could hear my voice ring out, Until Old George said kindly, “Nay lass, no need to shout. He’s gone to find his master And all will be all right, You know you’re only dreaming, It’s the middle of the night.” But when I opened up my eyes To the new day’s harsh, grey glare My heart cried out for Sullie And the times we used to share, For that cold wet nose of greeting, For the wagging of his tail, For that look of loyal belonging For the love that did not fail. And I yearned to be still dreaming, And that Sullie came when called And we walked away together As if time had somehow stalled. Back to village