Member Poem

Every day, as we drive past the quiet streets,
I scan the pavements, the hollow kerbs,
hoping to glimpse a flicker of fur,
a little shadow waiting by the roadside.
My head knows I won’t find you there,
but my heart still holds on to hope.

Every evening, stepping from the bus,
I turn my gaze to the ginnel’s glow,
orange streetlights casting ghosts on the stones,
hoping to see a little shadow bounding from the dark.
My head knows I won’t find you there,
but my heart still holds on to hope.

Before I cross the empty road,
I glance to the verge in the shadow’s grasp,
searching for bright, knowing eyes,
a little shadow watching, waiting,
happy to see me home again.
My head knows I won’t find you there,
but my heart still holds on to hope.

At night, I stand at my windowpane,
where moonlight drapes the garden in silver,
listening for your croaky mews,
watching for a soft shape beneath the trees.
My head knows I won’t find you there,
but my heart still holds on to hope.

So each day, I search for you,
in the places you loved best,
listening for the echo of your paws,
the whisper of fur brushing past.
My head knows I won’t find you there,
but my heart still holds on to hope.