A HIKE WITH WILLY (OUR DOG)
They passed by the cricket-call line,

Which was ringing loud and shrill.

They entered the sun-warmed, cricket-circle-meadow,

As the singing chi-chi-chi-ing,

Harmonized with the underfoot swish, swish, swish

Of crisp, brown, fallen leaves.

Passing through the field quickly,

Along the path of cat-tail and burdock

And goldenrod and golden aspen,

And sunlit sumac crowded there,

And fluffy, thistle seed, puffing and glistening silver-white,

And floating, silken, milkweed seed.

They do not hear,

Nor do they see

All of this.

They do not heed,

Like Willy,

Yet not like Willy, bounding here and there,

Hurrying home,

Worried about passing time,

Which I forgot,

While breathing the joy of this beauty,

Which, in dallying,

God presents to me.