Vigilant guardian of the garden, stalwart protector of the family, brave comrade, beloved friend. We will miss you!
He calls the sun to lay it's rays upon the grass
so he can walk
for him distant hills glow gold
he crows just to separate this moment from the last
despite the sleeping, he is prone to crow
which is why cups fly
or sometimes a stick or stones
He crows to give marching orders to the sleeping
to say the moon is done,
to say that it's the season
he crows to seize the day, because he's pleased
but also crows when he is not, or
for no apparent reason
He bosses the song birds, the speckled hen
three saintly dogs and one gray cat all day
then rests politely at the threshold of the kitchen floor
speaks my name just inside the open door
begs for grapes and Irish bisquits from my hand
pretends to hate red toenails
and bites them when he can
He clucks hen-like and watches me with amber eyes
stops to pluck a thread and stretch a wing
settles on the rug to watch me cook
inspects the dog water for things
Sometimes he's only lonely for a friend
and comes to chat, while I talk
his head topples while he naps
He takes a dust bath in the roses on sunny days
and crows when he hears my car coming down the lane
when the hawks throw dark shadows on the beds
only then he squawks alarmed and runs full out
then struts to hide what looks the same as shame
And deep he knows I know what he's about
He crows when its time for bed
meanders like the shadows cross the lawn
he calls before he gets his last kiss
then struts to show he's not that gone
but let's me lift him in my arms
and carry him to roost
and all is finally quiet
until dawn.
