What a great loss

The mornings
I imagine his sweet
Face next to mine
Whilst the pita pata
Of his feet moving
Across the room
The smell of the oatmeal
Shine on his coat
His sweet like voice

And the other loss
I'll be forever seeking
His shadow wheñ he leaves
Only he does not know me
In that manner
My actions are subtle and abrupt
We never have the time
To explore what an old age
Might be
I think he's never satisfied
Because I doñt know him enough
I just need some freedom
To get to know him
As we are