If you’re out walking the streets of London you may see people with dogs, and among those people you see with dogs you may notice some dogs with yellow harnesses. Guide dogs are remarkable and it is a brilliant service that they provide. This poem is for the people who rely on them, those people who help the charity in any fashion, and not least to the wonderful dogs themselves.

 

A Working Dog

Four beat paws on the wood floor,

You're trotting to my side.

My hand strokes the fur contour,

Splashed with tears I can't hide.

 

Lost for longer than you've lived,

I cynic'ly sighed doubt

At each mention they would give

Of dog and me and out.

 

Now within one month a friend

Is what you have become.

It is a joy without end

That when I call you'll come.

 

Golden light, my shining guide,

Such peace you bring this man.

Now my eyes are opened wide,

I'm free to walk this land.