Ode to the dog
The dog is asking me a question
and I have no answer.
He dashes through the countryside and asks me
wordlessly,
and his eyes
are two moist question marks, two wet
inquiring flames,
Dog and man: together we roam
The open countryside
The dog makes stops,
chases bees,
leaps over restless water,
listens to far-off
barking,
pees on a rock,
and presents me the tip of his snout

as if it were a gift:
it is the freshness of his love,
his message of love.
And he asks me
with both eyes:
why is it daytime? why does night always fall?
why does spring bring
nothing
in its basket
for wandering dogs
but useless flowers?
This is how the dog
asks questions
and I do not reply.
a gust of orangey air,
the murmuring of roots,
life on the move,

breathing and growing,
and the ancient friendship,
and joy
of being dog or being man
fused in a single beast
that pads along on
six feet,
wagging
its dew-wet tail.

Pablo neruda

Homerdog - Via A. Einstein 34, 35048 Stanghella (PD) - P.I. 04595080286
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