The Ones Still Waiting At The Gate.

Jake came first, big and proud,
With paws like paddles and a bark so loud.
He ran like thunder down the path,
Tail wagging wide like he'd just had a bath.

Then Speedy came—his sister, shy—
With the softest eyes and a quiet sigh.
She followed Jake like stars the moon,
And soon enough, Lassie came in June.

Lassie, oh, our sweet baby girl,
Ears too big and a clumsy twirl.
She’d chase her tail, then fall asleep
Right by the door in a dreamy heap.

Mum cried the day Lassie died—
The car was slow, but not slow enough.
I think her heart broke deep inside,
Even grown-ups can be fragile and tough.

And later, when school called us away,
Jake and Speedy began to fade.
Maybe it was sickness, the vet said,
But I think it was the games we never played.

No one to throw, no one to race,
No muddy hands, no laughing chase.
They waited by the gate each day,
Till they got too tired to stay.

Now I walk through memories, not our yard,
With echoes pressed into every card—
Jake, Speedy, Lassie—each one still near,
In the part of me that stays small and dear.