Our Claire

Is she there in the corner of the stair,

all black and fluffy with her tail curled round?

Is it possible, could it be our Claire?

Big green eyes blink, but she can’t make a sound.

I know she’s gone and it has been a while;

I know she’s not here, but at the Rainbow Bridge;

I know she’s happy; I can feel her smile

as she romps in the sun, over the ridge.

But sure as I know I am sitting here,

I know I saw her primly sitting still;

I felt her tell me that I shouldn’t fear,

that she was happy and was feeling well.

I’m grateful that our dear sweet Claire stopped by;

just wait a bit and I will wipe my eye.

©2007 MargyOhring

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