Rosie is waiting at the door,
ball of zest in a wiry core,
chases her tail in ecstasy,
leaping in somersaults of glee,
offers her slender rose-gold paw,
the world is out there to explore,
now is the moment to ignore
all care and triviality,
Rosie is waiting at the door,
the weight of living gone before
lifts and dispels all that was raw,
those Irish eyes of sweet Róisín,
brown globes of possibility,
expectantly gaze out, implore,
Rosie is waiting at the door.
