By Lee Robison
They wheel him out doors,
lock wheels.
The old dog brings a stick.
He heaves it from his seat—
a wheelchair in wanlight—
Sun through empty branches.
Days past he’d fetch the stick again.
He leans down,
strokes the wiry nape—
Lee Robison is in his third or seventeenth career. (Lee tends to career with abandon.)
thedrabble.wordpress.com 
Reminds me that we take so much for granted. Every day of life is precious.
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