Do my dogs die?

Not yet.

It is written in my book,

on my wall, on a piece of parchment,

under my candle,

that anger and lament and sadness,

sink the boat,

empty the bank,

snuff the candle out,

clean out the refrigerator,

drain the glass.

My dogs do not die,

they lie forever at my feet,

they run in my fields,

they make me smile,

when I am sad,  they do not die,

they are spirits, angels,

whispers in the sky,

they live in God’s Bucket,

Regret and guilt,

keeps the sad game going,

turning it over to empty souls,

with no skills for hoping and happiness,

and moving on,

my dogs do not die,

they live in my heart, they are the pastels

in my memory, they jump out of

the bucket when I call to them,

and they lead me back on the path of precious

time, precious life. Do not, they bark,

waste a single second on feeling sad for me,

or we will go and find a better human being,

who is worth our time.