Old Leo snoozes on the lawn,
grey snout between his outstretched paws.
Though perked up ears say "I'm alert,"
he's unaware that Summer's gone.

He chose a spot that's in the sun
where bones are warmed and flanks can bake.
A teasing breeze may stir loose fur
but not those dreams wherein he runs.

Too skinny now, just hide and bone.
Four feeble legs bear little weight
and almost jack-knife when he sits.
His haunches quiver till he's prone.

While watching him, I'm sad, withdrawn,
as I, too, creak, my joints all ache.
But unlike him I realize
my youth has fled, that Summer's gone.